


Poison || Pennywise X Reader

by MsTerror



Category: IT - Stephen King, IT(2017) - Fandom
Genre: 2017 Pennywise, Adult Mike Hanlon, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Loss, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Dead Georgie Denbrough, Dead People, Deadlights (IT), Death, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Dominant Pennywise (IT), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Member Death, Fear, Food Poisoning, Forgive Me, Goretober, Harm to Children, Hate to Love, Horror, Human/Monster Romance, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Killing, Love/Hate, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Pennywise (IT) Being an Asshole, Pennywise (IT) in Love, Pennywise (IT) is His Own Warning, Plot Twists, Poison, Poisoning, Possessive Pennywise (IT), Predator/Prey, Pregnancy, Relationship(s), Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Roughhousing, Roughness, Scary Clowns, Sexual Content, Sexual Harassment, Thriller, Trauma, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence, Weird Plot Shit, Witchcraft, Zombie Children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2020-11-26 13:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 62,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20930660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsTerror/pseuds/MsTerror
Summary: "You can love a monster, it can even love you back, but that doesn't change its nature."__________When the monster himself becomes obsessed with his prey, and the prey becomes overly curious over the monster. The two clash -- and what happens is irreversible.The lion falls for the lamb.But little did the lion know that the lamb was a wolf in disguise.__________Book One of the Hauntings Of Derry series.--> Hauntings Of Derry: Poison(Originally posted on Wattpad. Username: MsTerror)





	1. Prologue

**(Y/n) (L/n)** was many things considered abnormal by society standards. Ever since she was just a child her parents knew she wasn't the normal sort, instead of wailing like a regular newborn baby, she whimpered. Instead of playing with kids, she chose to insulate herself from socializing altogether, already harboring the mental disorder of social anxiety. Or that's what her parents dubbed her as, that is. But she didn't cast herself out because of mere shyness, or the awkward atmosphere that seems to dwell her being.

No, she wasn't shy. She just didn't care about people in general - socializing, at least - she was never good at that, anyways.

As she blossomed into a young adult, she finally considered the idea of having an actual friend, the occasional aquiaintance didn't count.

That's when she finally grasped the fact that she already knew from the very beginning, she was just blinded by the lack of human interaction: all humans, man and woman, are monsters in their own nature.

W E I R D

U N U S U A L

S T R A N G E

She was called much worse, but this summed the constant insults that were thrown her way nearly everyday in middle school.

  
How can someone judge another without even knowing them? That's what (Y/n) questioned, and the only answer she could think of that seemed most accurate would be because people are afraid of what's different.

Humans identify eachother by class rather then anything else. If a homeless person was to be passed out in the middle of a sidewalk, there's a guarantee that no one, despite even if they do go to church every Sunday and was one of the nicest of folks, they would not help the hobo up because it's not socialy exceptable. However, if an elderly man dressed neatly with an acceptable appearance fell down on the sidewalk, someone, within seconds if not a minute or two, would help the elderly man up rather then the homeless man.

And that's what her entire family was: the loonies of the whole town of Derry. Even if she did act like an ordinary, social healthy child she still would have been casted out involuntary because her grandma was demented for thinking Derry was cursed -- the whole town knew it.

Thankfully, the obsession didn't pass down to her dad. Her parents didn't believe in any of it, the _monster_ that lurked right under the unaware feets in their _dandy _little town; but they didn't think that everything that happened in the towns history was just by coincidence, either.

Everything slightly dastardly that has happened was forgotten, like an old candy wrapper shoved under a rug.

(Y/n) remembered hearing tales from her grandma about an malevolent being that feasted on children, it felt more like a scary bed time story then what her grandma thought to be true.

Her grandma would gaze off into the distance as she warned her granddaughter, tears brimming in the corners of her wrinkled eyes as she talked about her sister she lost when she was a child because of _It_, the monster. Her melechonly seemed genuine, horribly so that she was began to believe her deranged grandma.

  
But she knew better. Monsters like that didn't exist, it defiled the laws of reality. Though, she did find it interesting, the creativity behind it.

(Y/n) loved her family, even if they were an uncanny group; she was one of them, after all. That's all she had: family, nothing else. No-one else. Family in the end is what all one needs. She was proud of who she was.

And as she became an adult, age eighteen and fresh out of high school, she moved out of Derry to learn at an out of state College. It was a state over from Maine, in New Hampshire.

Four years went by slowly as she worked until her fingers were down to the bone and studied until she was passed out on a table in the community library. She was beyond exhausted, but considering she didn't have a social life she was less tired then most.

Years passed, age twenty-two and finally a decent communicator, she got a job in the industry she wanted, not exactly the position she wished to be in; that required experience, like most top jobs. She was planning on working her way up, though.

She hasn't seen her parents in almost five years. Besides the two weeks they spent in New Hampshire with her when she graduated college, but that's the only slither of time they've seen eachother. She regretted not trying her hardest to make it on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Everytime she was neck deep in a schedule she couldn't break.

Now they're dead.

Yet another tragedy struck Derry in the form of bullets, and her parents happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. About thirteen shot and killed at a election campaign being held in downtown square.

As soon as (Y/n) heard the news she dropped everything and returned to Derry, Maine, her hometown.

(Y/n), only twenty-two and having the burden of dealing with her parents insurance and debts, not to mention their funeral. Her grandmother helped a bit, but (Y/n) was reluctant on doing it herself.

She missed them so much, it almost killed her when she peered down at their caked on faces; the funeral home tried hard to hide the fact they were dead. Both laid in cushions of silk, with a hint of lavender oil her grandma added to mask the unbearable smell of strong chemicals used to embomb them. The coffins was dark stained cherry and it was perfectly polished. 

Mr. and Mrs. (L/n) wore their favorite formal wear that (Y/n) herself knew they favoured. Her mom wore an inky, short sleeve dress that complimented her figure; her dad was cladded in his one black tuxedo with a matching tie. They looked as much alive as they did wearing it. It reminded her of when they would go out together, sometimes in the same corresponding outfits.

Her mom wore the same dress to her graduation from college. (Y/n) felt a bit weird by it, considering the past indefinitely.

But their faces... You could tell they were deceased.

Whoever said dead people look peaceful, almost as if they were asleep, is full of shit. They looked utterly dead -- no warmth present in their features, still and stiff. She was half expecting a cacroach to crawl out from one of their mouths, or ear, perhaps nose even.

Only seven people attended the funeral. Two being grandma and (Y/n), and her other two grandparents on her mother's side who she didn't know so well. Then there was her aunt that she adored to no end. The other two people, however, she didn't know. Later she learned one is her great uncle and the other her second cousin.

The didn't know much about their family.

(Y/n) couldn't help but sulk from her tremendous loss, she stayed in her parents old home while she figured out what she was going to do with it. In their will they left it to her, but she wasn't sure she wanted it. Derry held something hostile within the confines of her chest. Ever since she set foot in the particular town all she's felt was unbridled dread that drowned out even her own erratic heartbeat.

And when her grandma started feeding her the same poison she's dealt with for years, informing her about the more monstrous history of her hometown that's been blindly forgotten to not just the residents, but also the rest of the state and country.

It was all too strange and coincidental for her liking.

For the first time, she felt Derry for what it truly was.


	2. After the Funeral (2009)

(Y/n) could basically taste the sorrow that drowned the house, washing over the once calm living space in a dreadful blanket. Earlier she attempted to lighten the suffocating atmosphere with the radio in the living room, but as the song _**One Hundred Years**_ played, mocking her almost, she knew she wasn't going to rest reassured anytime soon.

It was storming that day in Derry, after the funeral of Mr and Mrs (L/n), it flash flooded the streets, clogging some of the storm drains in its own river of tears. The rain pattered against the windows of (Y/n)'s deceased parents house, which was her's now; large murky droplets hit the roof and windows like pebbles. At first she thought it was hailing, but it was just the visouis storm that brewed overhead.

The sudden storm scared many people, specifically the small children and animals. There was one person who was terrified the most, by the storm -- not so much -- but what lurked _in _it. Not the storm specifically, but the events leading up to this very moment; horrible things, when everyone is scared -- that's what scared her. 

Louis (L/n) was her name. She was (Y/n) grandmother.

(Y/n) didn't quite understand her grandmother's assumptions about how Derry was cursed. And it didn't help that her grandma was spitting her crazy theories around at a time like this. 

"No. No no no no." Grandma Louis repeated that chant like it was going to stop whatever she was fussing about. 

The old woman was in apparent distress, loss of her son and something else had her walking around the house when she shouldn't be because of her current condition, her old cane clicking impatiently against the wooden floors. Silver wisps of hair stopped just above her wide shoulders, the sea of grey was tangled in clumps like a boat in a storm. Her delicate wrinkly fingers grabbed at the roots before shaking vigorously, her palms creating friction and causing the hair to knot into a bigger rat nest. Her gaze snapped out the window every few seconds; their front yard was flooded with water and it appeared like they had a charming pond out front, it was almost realistic enough to trick bystanders. 

(Y/n) knew she would have to intervene soon or else her grandma would end up throwing out her hip. 

"What's wrong?" (Y/n) asked, already knowing the answer. 

Grandma Louis didn't pass her granddaughter a glance, not yet. She was still trying to see if the thing was already out there. Of course, it appeared to be just a normal day, but nothing is always as it seemed. That's how her sister was murdered -- no one saw it coming. 

"I'm alright, dearie." Louis sat down in the resting chair, still looking out the window. "I'm just ruffled up, is all. Just... Don't go outside."

There were times that her grandma would act like this, alert and weary, it was completely uncalled for. However, considering (Y/n) is a decent granddaughter, she didn't call her grandma a crazy old hag. _Even though she is,_ (Y/n) thought. She still loved her, though. 

(Y/n) wasn't at all perfect herself, either. She was odd, and she liked odd things. Like how she's obsessed over classic horror movies. She always enjoyed putting herself in the killers shoes, trying to come up with an alaberate and creative plan on how to kill the next victim. That's when she realized a long time ago she wouldn't mind plucking out someone's eyeball out of self defense, or kicking them ruthlessly if someone went after her. 

"Gran, please don't tell me you think your killer is out there... Again."

The much older woman shook her head in disagreement. Her grey murky eyes said otherwise. "No, no. It's just... A mother shouldn't have to bury her child. It's got me thinking... Thinking. Thinking." She droned out. 

There was a reason why Louis lived with her son and his wife, and now her granddaughter. She wasn't all there. She hasn't been for years now, perhaps it started from her childhood trauma. No-one knew. 

That's partially the reason why no one believed her when she pressed her findings to the mayor, given her past issues. 

Her evidence was organized and well thought out, but there was one thing that made the whole thing crumble in on itself. The obvious range in time that spanned for centuries. That made the whole ordeal utter garbage to everyone. Perhaps there were a curse, perhaps it did come back every twenty-seven years to seek vengeance on the residents. 

(Y/n) shook that thought out of her head. 

(Y/n) sat down on the sofa close to Louis and reached out placing a caring hand on her stiffened arm. "Gran, it's going to be-"

Louis, as if (Y/n)s hand was a hot iron, julted away from her touch and practically fell out of seat in a frenzy. She must have pulled something after all because a painful grimace was etched on her face, wrinkles making her appear even more in agony. 

Louis did in fact pull a muscle in her lower back by twisting in the wrong way too quickly. She was to absorbed in her tangled thoughts that ran for miles and miles, twisting and spiraling, until the two situations came crashing together in one big explosion that left her an empty shell for a split second before she hit the ground harshly. 

(Y/n) quickly helped Louis back in the armchair and sighed. 

_What am I going to do with her, _she thought. _She's getting worse-_

Suddenly, Louis picked herself back up out of the chair; her old bones crackled as she stood on her feet. The old woman hushed (Y/n) before she could protest by tenderly taking both her hands in her own, her shoulders shook with dread and it traveled down to the tips of her fingers. (Y/n) understood, cradling her grandmas trembling hands in her own like the older woman would crumble underneath her grasp. 

"I'm sorry, I've been lost in thought lately," Louis said. She broke her hold on her, swaying lightly before grabbing her cane and walking towards the hallway. "Follow me. There is something you must see."

Without hesitation, she followed her down the narrow hallway; they headed towards Louis room. She didn't try to mask the confusion on her face and tone. "Show me what?"

  
(Y/n)s question went unnoticed, but it was soon answered as Louis fully opened her door to reveal stacks of varies books of different shades and ages, papers littered over her ancient oak desk, some scattered over her cherry dyed carpet. It was a mess, to say the least.

"Your parents didn't want me to 'scare' you. If it wasn't for them I would have told you sooner," Louis said.

(Y/n) knitted her eyebrows and plucked a slightly wrinkled piece of paper on the ground. The paper had an article printed on it about a brutal shoot out.

In the far right margin, a summary of the passage along with arrows pointing to highlighted sentences was displayed. It read:

_"In 1864, 120 people (50 kids and 70 adults) were shot and only 10 kids survived and 1 adult, by a gang called Derry Padrinos ran by Confederate sympathizers."_

Then she picked another up from the ground, another article. But this time her grandma wrote her summary on the back, along with other notes and theories:

_"Derry was started as a beaver camp until one day 91 people were vanished without a trace."_

She couldn't believe what she just read. Did this really happen -- why has she not heard about this? That's saying something, considering she's lived here her entire life. Born and raised.

It seemed like important history of Derry, brutal and utterly horrible, but note worthy. It was strange.

(Y/n) made eye contact with Louis, a questioning gaze that was answered when more papers were suddenly thrusted into her hands.

"What does this have to do with anything?" (Y/n) asked. "Why didn't mom and dad want me to know this?"

"Derrys a dark place. It's not like any other town, oh no, it's much more different. It's bigger than you and I... Old, ancient. Some kind of curse that draws bad things here -- horrible luck this town has, indeed.

"Your parents didn't want you to see what I've found because they thought I was crazy. Everyone thinks I'm just some crazy ol' coot-" she lightly laughed, knowingly. "-they didn't want you getting involved. But they knew something was wrong, they believed me to a certain extent. I'll feel more reassured if you knew as well-- Just read the articles, you'll see."

(Y/n) wanted to question her more but the mutiple papers in her hands made her curiosity grow, hungry for further information.

So that's what she did, she sat down at her grandmas desk and began reading over the papers, and many more that littered the desk as well.

_"In 1908, 102 people (88 kids and 14 adults) were killed during the Ironworks Factory explosion."_

_"In 1900, 5 people (5 policemen) were murdered by the Derry Padrinos, Later in 1902 the Derry Padrinos were murdered."_

_"Rumors of Indians, but no sign of an invasion."_

Then Louis placed a thick book in front of (Y/n), _Old Derry's History_, opened to a yellowed page with various pictured of multiple incidents. Then she settles on a picture of a painting, a well with a mother and child beside it. (Y/n) eyes scanned over the words and she grimaced at the content of the page.

Many kids were lost to the well, presumed they fallen in on accidental; the kids they did find were beyond dead, and looked like a wild animal nawed most of the flesh and meat clean off the bones.

"It's all connected to the old Neibolt house. That's were the well is," Louis said, pointing to the pictures. "I haven't been there... Too terrified. Plus my old age won't allow it now."

(Y/n) tasted something bitter in her mouth as she spoke. "So you're telling me that every incident that's happened is connected somehow? And that this well holds the answer."

"That's what I'm trying to say! The Well House-- something lives there. Something horrible. And it's been here for a long, long time."

"They're all connected by the sewers. The Ironwork and the Black Spot... You're right, Gran." Rational thoughts ran through her mind, and she continued, "but how do you know that something lives there?"

Could something really be the cause of all these incidents and disappearances? Could something really be residing within the rotting confines of the old house on Neibolt street?

Everytime (Y/n) passed that house she felt like she was being watched -- it filled her with unspent dread -- and it held murderous intent, a sense of starvation for something wicked.

But the only people who stay there are junkies and hobos.

"I saw a clown," grandma said. "Standing in one of the windows just... Staring. This was back in 1989 I think, when a bunch of children went missing. Twenty three kids were found dead, tore to bits, floating in the sewers and in the barons. I think the same thing that I saw back then is the same thing that killed those children."

(Y/n) had to stifle the laugh that threatened to rise in her throat. _Now a clown? _She thought. _She's got imagination, I'll give her that much. _

"Gran, I think you should sit down and rest," she said.

The old woman wore a scornful face. "I'm being serious, child! There's plenty of times when I was wrong, I know my memory is slipping me as I age. But there's one thing for certain I know I'll never forget: this rechet town, all the years I've spent trying to prove something is terribly wrong with this town. You know how many deaths Derry has on record, just in the past two-hundred and seventy years? Over sixteen thousand... Sixteen thousand!"

(Y/n) almost couldn't comprehend that menacing number. It struck something within her that clawed up her spine and ghosted over her flesh in tiny goose pimples. And for some reason, she believed her grandma. Only a little bit.

(Y/n)'s attention drifted over to the only window in the bedroom; rain was still pouring outside, thickly -- hot light shot through the grey clouds before the loud roar of thunder shook the house. She knew she shouldn't be thinking about it, but she really needed to get away for the time being. This information that made her beloved hometown sound like a fucked up rodeo; she didn't need to know this, especially considering she just got back from the funeral. She still wore her dark and rather shabby dress because all her clothes were in the wash machine. The inky dress clung tightly to her bust and waist, flowing loosely down her hips before stopping above her knee. At least it was comfortable, that's all that mattered to her.

She was going to have herself a lovely stroll in the rain, stop by the well House to see if her deranged grandma is in fact correct -- and maybe possibly die in the process. But that's what makes this whole ordeal exhilarating, her seeing if it's true; she didn't have much fear in death. Everyone dies, it's nature, is what she thought.

She wanted to know more. More about Derry. More about the curse thats ingulfed her town in death itself. The more her grandma shows her, the further she believes. The more she dwells on the facts, the more she wants to investigate herself.

She was determined to see if her grandma was correct, if all these murders actually add up to something way more than herself and the town.

She was going to see the house for herself.

"Thanks gran, for letting me look at these," (Y/n) said, getting up and leaving. "You get some rest, I'll be in my room if you need anything." Her grandma gave her a reassuring smile, her eyes hinted something else though. Suspension, maybe?

"You make sure you get some rest as well. It's been a long, sad day." (Y/n) shook her head in response before completely leaving.

Instead of heading to her room, she makes her way to the still illuminated living room. The radio still played softly and she decided to leave it on for obvious reasons.

She grabbed her keys and slipped on her hoodie, flipping the hood over her head. She didn't pack a rain coat, which she dreadfully regrets. She then slips out the door -- the rusted hinges creak weakly, soft click of the lock -- and she's out into the thunderous storm.

She was stupid for going out at a time like this, but that's why she did it. She's mindlessly reckless, determination fogging her mind into submission.

She needed answers.

This is probably why her parents didn't want her to know.


	3. The Well House

"I'm such a dumbass," (Y/n) muttered as she stood just outside the Well House, staring hestaintly at the rusted door handle that threatened to fall off because of the corroded nails. 

(Y/n) looked at the old house, she'd passed it almost everyday. The Neibet street was the quickest route to and from home. It was like any other old house, but the front yard weeds grew past her knees. The old wood panels was just a rotting shell of is former glory. At one point she could imagine when it was a beautiful home, but now it was practically a carcass of better times; and it licked at her soul in warning, dreadfully. 

She was soaked to the bone with rain, water droplets dripped down her bare legs, her dress clung uncomfortablely to her trembling body. Water puddled underneath her feet, soaking the moldy porch. 

  
It was a late November day in Maine, and in the early forties. The sky is rolling blanket of cloud the colour of dry ash, light crackling through the clouds. The leaves on the trees were beginning to go past their due date, shades of orange, yellow and red; brown soggy leaves coated the earth.

Rain blured her vision when she turned back towards the empty street. She regretted even stepping outside, more or so now since she was finally at her destination. She wanted to go back, but at the same time she didn't. The house, for some odd reason, had a gravitational pull to her, whispering against her skin.

Thats when she finally stepped into the house, brimming with determination to find the room to the well. She was hit in the face with the smell of pungent stale water and black mold. The vintage furniture was broken, chairs without legs and cabinets without doors - like a body with no soul that would never work. The entrance hall was roomy, airy and eerie. An uneasy breeze blew down the corridor and grasped her with its chilly touch. Its fingers circled around her body, tenderly fondling every inch of her, pulling her shoulder's tight together as she huddled into herself for warmth.

Every rotting floorboard creaked under her weight as she practically stumbled in the bleak darkness. She could feel evilness oozing out of every crack and crevice in the ceiling and walls. Suddenly, a warm light licked at the floor before dancing across the walls in a shape of a strange silhouette.

She causouisly travels to the source: a cracked door. But as soon as her palms press against the freezing wood the warm glow goes out. Her body goes cold. Despite that, she opened the door completely (she imagined vividly that a scaly hand shooting from the pitch black and grabbing her, pulling her down into god-know's-where before munching on her carcass like she was a cheeseburger) and stepped in. It lead downstairs where it was the dimly lit by dusty windows lining top of the walls.

And there in the far corner was the well, half of it was crumbled to the ground. The closer she got, the more she saw the dark stains on the stones.

(Y/n) regretted not bringing a flash light with her, she could barely see her two feet in front of her. She didn't have a phone with her either because she shattered her last one by dropping it on concrete.

Her fingers ghosted over the smooth stone well; the dark stains left a brown crusty, flaky residue on her index finger. When she sniffed in the strong, sharp and painful ordor, it caused her to reel back her hand and sneeze.

"This is-" she stammered, her tongue working against her.

_Blood_, she finally comprehended.

(Y/n) was familiar with the smell of dried blood. One time, back in New Hampshire, there was something that smelt rotten behind her fridgerator. That pungent smell ended up being a dead rat, shriveled organs squished out from the fridge being pushed against it. How that happened was beyond her. How she didn't smell it sooner was a better question she couldnt answer.

(Y/n) jolted back and snapped her head around the basement. She strained her eyes to see pass the dark, but then she saw the source of the noise.

An old can of motor oil rolled from the inky fog, hitting her feet. She picked it up. Suddenly out of no where skeered a rat and ran behind the well. She hesitatly peered over the side of it.

There sat the same rat, nawing on something white in the corner, staring at her as it did so. Uneasiness clawed up her spine as she made eye contact with the animal, it's eyes faced the opposite direction but she knew it was still looking at her, peering visouisly into her soul. Her eyes flicked off the rat, nervously looking around to see if she was still alone besides the animal.

The rat was gone without a trace or sound, like it was never there to began with. She shook the feeling away quickly.

She wasn't about to leave because she was scared of a rat, she reminded herself. She was here to see if her grandma was possibly right, to see if the well House held any evidence. But so far the only discriminating element she's seen was died blood, which could be from anything.

She hummed and tossed the can of oil high in the air then caught it. She wondered how far the well went, then she got an idea.

She threw the can down the well.

She leaned over the stones and strained her ears to listen.

But before she could get her answer, her blood went cold. A prickly feeling ghosted up her back, and stopped sharply between her shoulderblades. That feeling morphed into the shape of a very large hand and it shoved her down the well.

She screamed as she tried her damnest to grab hold of the stony walls as she fell deeper into the pitch black -- the only sliver of light was fading at an alarming rate much like herself. Wind engulfed her form and smacked harshly against her skin. Soon It was ten feet. Twenty feet. Thirty feet. She lost track of feet when she couldn't see anymore, it was so dark she might have thought she went blind if it wasn't for the obvious situation of her falling to her demise.

_This is the end, this is the end! I'm sorry mom and dad, I wasn't the daughter you deserved, _she thought desperately. _I'm sorry, gran... For calling you a crazy bitch. Oh my god, what about Salem! I'm sorry_ _Salem_ (Salem was her black cat, as his name applied the scrony feline was indeed the calm, lay in the sun kind of cat -- she found him stuck in a storm drain outside her apartment, and as soon she laid eyes on him she knew he was here to stay).

Her back crashed to the ground.

Or so she thought as she finally realized her savour was a sheet nailed to the cement walls.

(Y/n) couldn't stop her hyperventilation, or the thunderous pounding in her chest. She laid there for god knows how long, stunned and frozen to place. Finally she pushed herself off the sheet and actually crashed to the ground, stumbling on her feet from the traumatic experience. She couldn't believe she actually survived that. She was sure she was pardoned from life.

"You weren't there for us. You left us to die," a very familiar voice bellowed. Then it seethed, dripping in venom, "You killed us!" Her heart. She couldn't stop her heart leaping in her throat.

"Mom?" her voiced cracked. She reached out to the figure that looked to be her mother that stood in an opening to a tunnel. She was too far away, even so, her mother slithered back like (Y/n) was a venomous snake. Then she disappeared behind the corner into the piss stench sewers.

All reasoning left (Y/n)s mind like sand shifting through hands, not even the one that told her repeatedly that her mother was dead. Her parents were dead. Dead as a doorknob, a carcass, like the rotting raccoon that was splattered across the interstate and baked in the sun she saw this morning before going to the funeral.

But she didn't care. They _never _did care. The fact that, even if she did see her own parents corpse being dropping six feet into the earth wasn't enough, that perhaps that wasn't the case. Maybe they were alive? Perhaps they were playing some sick and twisted game on their gullible daughter that was just as reckless as that raccoon in the road.

Still, she followed suit after her appearenlty not deceased mother. She didn't even grimace as gray water slotched againster her ankles. Not even the stink bothered her, not at that exact moment anyway. But when she did stop and took a much needed breath. That's when she reeled forward and coughed vigorously into her fist, it all stung her nostrils down to her dried throat.

She didn't know where she was at. She knew one thing: she was in the sewers. The same ones that ran under Derry, the tunnels were like a haunted maze of concrete.

So basically, she was prancing around in Derry's shit and piss like a Christian kid on Sunday morning.

She thought she lost her mom, that was until her father popped out from a corner without warning. This caused (Y/n) to clash roughly against the sewers walls from utter surprise.

"I died because of you," he said. "Look what you've done to me!" A deep rumble escaped his throat before he screeched. His once warm eyes were now glazed over, white and veiny. His teeth were black and decayed. Suddenly his white button up shirt, right in the middle of his torso, began to leak a sinister shade of scarlet. It bleed through, much like he did. Her father took a sharp gasp before clutching his wound.

Then he fell backwards, splotching shit water everywhere.

"Dad!" she screamed. She was at his side in a snap of a finger. One hand rested on his sweaty forehead and the other on his wound. He pulsed with chills, freezing against her hand.

She weeped as she relived his death. His murder. The words he spoke in vigar shook her too her core, and she cried more.

Then she heard a small sliver of a breath escape him. As she leaned back from her head being on his chest, her father's eye shoot open. They were not his own. They were a blaze, twist of feirry red and yellow. Starving, she thought, deep down they held a sense of starvation unlike any other.

"Hungry..." he mutters. "So very hungry."

(Y/n) than moved away from her father... Or rather, whatever was acting to be. "What- who are you?"

Instead, he was gone in a blink of an eye. Much like her sense of dignity when she realized she was basically bathing in sewer water. That, and the fact she hallucinated the whole thing.  
Even up to the part where she fell down the well. Perhaps she tripped. Perhaps someone really did shove her down. Perhaps this. Perhaps that. Right now she didn't really care, she just wanted to get out of the shitty sewers.

_Dad's dead. Mom's dead. Everyone is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. I could have been dead. Splat! On concrete in the sewers were no one could find me. I'd probably would have been a nice feast for the sewer rats. Like that rat I last saw. They would have munched on my soft parts, like my eyes and organs. All that would be left of my miserable corpse would be a pitiful skeleton, raggedy clothing, and that'll probably be it-_

But she couldn't find a way out. She could barely see her own hands and if she were to look down at her feet all she would see is her ankles sticking out of the mucky water, but not pass it. The water was too thick, light was too little. She was sort of lucky, though, because she couldn't see her soiled, black dress shoes. She knew she'd have to throw them away after this -- maybe even burn them, if she was in the mood.

Yeah, she was definitely going to burn them to shit.

She turned one corner, left then right. Right then left. She was lost. Utterly stuck in a maze of piss and shit and grim and garbage. Right when she thought she was close to being at least a little close to being out, she headed straight into a dead-end of steel bars blocking the path.

"(Y/n)-" someone hummed.

Ice jolted through her viens. Panic was rising in her mind again -- it was like black coffee threatening to overflow the rim of a cup. She closed her eyes and slowly turned around. She stood there, perfectly still, a pale statue with a pulse beating in its throat.

That's when she finally saw _It. _A man in a Victorian clown suit. A man with a forehead as big as Einstien's mind. Menacing eyes of red trained on her, caked white face twisted in a toothy smile. He must be wearing colored contacts, she guessed. Her eyes drifted down his face -- that's when she noticed his two buck teeth that reminded her of a rabbit, a very sinister rabbit.

_This must be the clown gran seen, _she thought. _Oh sugar honey iced tea. Now I'm really dead. I'm fucked. I'll be in the papers, on the news maybe. 'Young woman killed by clown and found in sewers' it would read. How would they know a clown did it... No one would know. _

The clown cocked his head to the side, natural ginger hair swayed as he did so. "(Y/n)-"

"W-who are you and how do you know my name?" she stumbled. Fear nipped her skin, gooseflesh prickling.

"Who am I?" he clicked his long tongue. He took one step closer, she took one step back. Soon she was trapped between the cold bars and the clown. Her knees felt like noodles as he spoke again. "Well, I'm Pennywise! Pennywise the dancing clown, and you, dearie, are (Y/n)."

"You didn't answer my question," she shot back, trying to control her hands from shaking at her side. "How the hell do you know my name."

His smile deepened, curling on his cheeks from ear to ear. And when she finally made eye contact with the clown -- crystal blue eyes stared into her soul, making her quiver under his heated gaze -- she could have swore they were red just earlier.

"Is it wrong to know the name of your food before you eat it?" he asked. Drool glistened and dripped down his chin, his once smiling face now emotionless. His eyes, much like the rat from earlier, stared in opposite directions but still remained fixated on her.

Pennywise loomed over the much shorter girl, two heads taller and probably more. It intimated her more so then before.

What she couldn't gasps was what he meant by food. Did he mean her? Was she really going to die, right now and then, because of a damn clown?

No. No she was not.


	4. The Clown

Pennywise could smell the human girl from a mile away. Quit literally, actually. Ever since she'd stepped foot in the Well House, a pint-size bundle of uncertainty and a bit of excitement, if he wasn't mistaken. She wasn't incased in that delectable scent of fear. Not when she stepped inside the old house. Not when he quickly shifted to a rat, which buried deep down under all the suppressed sorrow (questioning why humans have so many complex emotions, was oblivious to Pennywise himself; they tasted bland if it wasn't for the marinate of tasty dread that soaked their putrid meat) she was afraid of rats. Apparently not enough it seemed. 

Usually he wasn't wrong. He was never wrong. And that's what pissed him off more, that he was too weak. Too fragile. Puny. _Delicate._

_So hungry. Starvation. Too early, _he thought as he watched the girl snoop in the basement, a place she shouldn't be. _But oh so very convenient. Naughty naughty human. _

He knew all too well he was awoken much too early. Six years before he actually needs to feed, and that left him in a languid state of form and a sour mood that could be described as a pounty, sleep-deprived child. 

That's why his limps seemed to have a mind of their own. His more humanly acceptable form, that is, though most humans had a nagging fear of others dressed as such. Strange clothing and even stranger makeup that caked their faces to amuse others -- one of the most common fears along side the pathetic anxiety over heights and water, even a tiny spider -- it was pathetic. Pennywise wouldn't admit, not even to himself, but he had a little (only a hair) intress in the 'aesthetic'.

Perhaps. Maybe not. He didn't know anymore. 

_Damn__ human appendages and their worthless pudgy bodies, _he thought, as he took form into a person that spun around and around in the girl's mind like a record. Her mind was like a dreadful maze that went on and on; everytime he thought he had her in his clutches, that's when he'd realize he'd fallen into a trap himself. A dead end. _How?_

That's what plagued his mind like poison, what nipped and snapped at his pride like visouis, ravenge mongrels. A mere human, a puny ill-minded one at that, was able to stump him. Mind games, manipulation, the ability to screw with one's head; that's what he's good at. Centuries -- that's how long he's been doing this -- probably even longer. 

Pennywise didn't keep track of the years, not like that at least. He may come out every twenty-seven years but that's basically a mental clock of his. Eat, sleep. Sleep, eat. 

_Eat. Sleep. Eat. Sleep. Eat. _

But now is different. It has nothing to do with waking up early (maybe, he didn't know) or the clock that goes tick tick ticking in his non-existing brain. No, it was those _kids. _

Now adults, though. He was sure of that. And how he _craved _them; he wanted nothing but to get his well deserved revenge on those damn brats -- he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into their fear dripping flesh, to eat every morsel from their fragile bones. 

But right now, six years too early, this girl will have to do. And if he truly tried his damnest, he could go back to sleep. He knew he could. 

Adult humans were a bit more difficult to scare, and their flavor was a bit more savery. Kids, however, are the exact opposite, and they're sweet. _Addictive_. _Satisfying._

But when Pennywise and the girl came face to face -- that's when he finally sensed the dread seeping off her like shock waves. 

Thunderous thumping of her heart could be heard like music to his ears (though, he didn't really listen to music) like she was already running for dear life. He could almost taste the salty, cold sweat that coated her back despite her soggy state. He _felt _her arms prick up when those frightful (e/c) eyes landed on his lanky figure. Trembling legs, bare and dripping in sewer water, made little quakes in his own body.

_He was starving. _Like a dog who hasn't eaten in the past month. 

"What do you want?" the girl asked, voice barely trembling. Pennywise knew her as (Y/n), at least he was pretty confident it was. Her brain -- if not his, maybe both -- were a jumble of mix memories he could barely get a glance at. And the ones he did so happen get to see was nothing of importance to him. 

He didn't really care to watch her series of birthday parties from the pass, unless it did have something worth while in them (they didn't). All he seen was pointless moments with her parents. Worthless. Worthless. Worthless.

"Me?" Pennywise asked. "Now, child. You wouldn't like the answer to that."

Her fear wavered a bit. "Enough mind fuckery," she growled. She really was a naive girl. "Leave me the hell alone."

  
Pennywise tsked, leaning over the girl, causing her to waver more on her feet. Oh how he wished he could just go ahead and tear her head off those stiff shoulders. But he couldn't, not yet.

His toothy smile stretches, the flesh around his sinister lips splitting as he does so. "Tasty tasty fear! Now tell me, child. What makes you scared?"

  
"Why don't you fuck off?" She inched away from the clown, slowly, steadily. She took in every possible position, every escape route. The best she could, considering the situation. First she saw her expired parents skipping around the sewers like it was Saturday morning, now a fucking clown with a forehead the size of a gigantic balloon.

She would have laughed at it, if it wasn't for the situation (because obviously a head that size couldn't be real, right? It's special effects makeup, right? Or perhaps she really is going bonkers.)

Pennywise was loosing his patience, and not bothering to try and morph into something -- he went with the easiest and quickest approach.

His long fingers curled around her petite throat, clamping down on the delicate structure and slammed her forcibly against the bars. She thrashed in his python-like hold, wiggling like a worm caught on a hook.

That's when she stared into the eyes of her killer. They gleamed, crimson with speckles of hearty gold. They were by far the brightest object in these underground tunnels -- and that only made her more afraid. _Weren't they blue early? Or am I crazy? How is any of this real... How. _

(Y/n) was never more sure in her life then as of right now. She was going to die. By a murderous clown that dwells in Derry's sewer system. _God, _she should have listened to her grandma.

Turns out, maybe her grandma wasn't so crazy after all. How could this thing make her see her dead parents like it was day of the dead, and why?

How?

_How?_

Pennywise snaps his jaws open with his sharp, skinny teeth ready to peirce her tantalizing flesh. But he suddenly stopped.

Then he sneezed. Continually. One. Two. Three. His odd facial features churning, twisting into a disguised grimace. _Sour_.

"Sour," Pennywise seethed, nose scrunched up. His strong hold on her neck loosens. "Rotten." He let's the girl drop harshly to the ground, splashing helplessly into the shit and piss of the sewers. "Filthy, putrid human."

(Y/n) opened and closed her mouth like she was a fish, a disgusting symphony of wheezes and coughs savagly tearing from her throat like acid.

Pennywise slinked back away from her, still barring his vicious set of pearly whites.

He couldn't believe it. _No. No no no no. How is this even possible-_

"W-what the hell a-are you?" She couldn't stop the overbearing compression in her throat. She couldn't stop weezing. She knew he... This _thing_ wasn't human.

Pennywise didn't answer her question to her dissatisfaction. Instead, he snarled at her like she was something more hideous then himself.

Like _she _was a different creature.


	5. Strange Incounter

There is a time in everyone's life, young or seasoned, that we question our own sanity. What happens when the roots of sane are severed, and instead of growing like a normal, functioning weed, it sprouts else where; and those deranged, sickly ones curled and twisted around object's that shouldn't be, resulting in destruction and overgrowth. You sever the roots, you get the thorns. Prickly thorns that are more annoying than anything else. 

And (Y/n) herself couldn't stand the thought of her loosing her mind to prickle of thorns that stuffed her skull. If she didn't know any better she would say she'd lost her mind. Completely off her rocker. And that was justifiable because she was in the sewers, not by her own will, however, but also considering the reason she was frolicking in the tunnels was due from her going to a supposedly haunted house in bad weather. Why, might ask a sane person, why would someone in their right mind do something as idiotic as that? 

That's because (Y/n) wasn't in her right mind. Some might say she never has been. The wretched towns people, that is, bunch of hypocrites in her eyes. They say she's delusional, that her family is fucked up pansies ready to blow like a nuclear holocaust. Perhaps, perhaps not. She wasn't so sure anymore.

In the darkest corner of her jumbled mind sat a grisly thought. It simmered, flaring into HD picture perfect view. What if something like that actually did happen -- what if this shitty town really did burn? She wouldn't care, as long as she wasn't the one burning. _She would do it herself, _she thought. _Yes. She would savor it._

But that didnt change the fact she was just attacked by a clown... A thing. She didn't know if he was human or not, no-one on record could do the things this clown did. But all she needed to know was how to get the fuck away from this psycho. 

_I'm loosing my fucking marbles. _

  
"You," Pennywise seethed. He was a safe distance away from her; both skeptical of eachother. "The real question is, child. Why are you tainted like spoiled meat?"

She knew she should run, but where? She was utterly lost. And she had a feeling this thing would flawlessly find her if she did. Her back was still firmly pressed against the bars, out of the water.

She was heaving. "No. No it's not- Pennywise, is it? You're not human, are you?" She already knew the answer.

The clowns face twisted in to a toothy ill-mannered smile; his animalistic behavior made her skin crawl, like tiny bugs barrowing under her flesh. "Free balloon to the smart girl! I'm certainly not human. I'm better. Something your little head couldn't even comprehend."

(Y/n) should have knew better. But she was craving answers -- everything that's happened to this town, this clown, Pennywise, had something to do with it -- she was certain. Not to mention, she wasn't in her right mind. Grieving and no sleep can play sick tricks on an idle mind.

"You sound like an arrogant prick," she snaps. "Try me."

Pennywise didn't see the point in scarying the girl, considering he couldn't _eat _her. But he didn't shy away from the thought of killing her. Especially considering her filthy mouth, much like her flesh.

Pennywise snapped his jaws, peeling back the skin surrounding his mouth, producing more rows of razor teeth. His gloves tore from his elongated fingers, inky claws grinded against the concrete walls as he walked closer to the girl, who stood firmly in her place. Then he lunged.

She tensed up on the spot, like she just jumped naked into a freezing lake in the bleak of January. His teeth aimed right for the soft flesh on her face -- and she winced, snapping her head to the side. 

That was the end of (Y/n) (L/n).

But it never came. His teeth barely grazed her rosy cheek, his hungry claws mere centimeters from her tight gut. He was frozen on the spot, like a terrifyingly monstrous statue. 

He couldn't kill her. Not from pity, but because he couldn't kill her. _He couldn't kill her. Kill. Kill. Kill. Nor eat. Eat- he was starving. _Something was in the way, something he couldn't place his bony finger on.

She took her chance and kicked him square in the stomach, not minding much about dress standards (good thing he was hunched over, because then she wouldn't have been able to kick him properly, him being at least more than seven feet tall). The brutal yet clumsy strike didn't knock back the thing like she wanted. He stood firmly in place, unmoved. His extra teeth, however, vanished and he wore a venomous snare; his nonexistent, but outlined, menacingly arched eyebrows scrunched closer to his gleaming, hateful eyes; red nose scrunched up in pure annoyance. He pointed a claw at her, clearly pissed. 

"You're not a mere human either," he stated, scowling. "Or at least, not a normal one. You're meat reeks of everything vile, but also sweet."

(Y/n) couldn't shake off how close the monster was standing, practically in her face. She shoved her skull closer to the bars to get away from Pennywises gut retching breath that engulfed her nostrils every time he spoke, but her attempts were all in vain. She would be lying if she didn't say it stung, like she just stook a big, unexpected wiff of powdered chlorine. 

"What?" she mocked. "I'm not your preferred brand?"

This caused Pennywises scowl to melt away -- his eyes still held menace, however -- and chuckled. "Well looky here, someone's self aware! Good for ya."

Dread melted away from her quivering bones. Whatever this thing was probably wasn't going to kill her. Maybe. It's not like she could win to such a horrid thing, she knew she couldn't, not even if she tried. She was still on complete mind-numbing alert. 

(Y/n) locked eyes with Pennywise. "You're the one who's behind everything, aren't you? You killed all those people."

"Bingo," he said. 

"You- you actually eat little kids?"

The sick smile he wore sent nauseas ripples in her gut. "Yes, dearie, I do. I scary em, then I eat em. Like I would have done to you." His voice darkened at the mention. 

"I'm not a kid, though. Why the hell," she scoffed. 

"Beggers can't be choosers... and I'm starving." He wore a pained face for a split second, before it vanished back into his overly done smile. 

She'd heard enough, she decided. She didn't realize how numb her finger were, until she prided them from the cold bars she was holding onto with a death grip. (Y/n) didn't know what to do, where to go. She was stuck between a dead end and a homicidal clown _thing. _

She could pass him a slip, and ran full hell until she reached somewhere but here. Preferable out of the sewers, though. How long as it been, how long as she's been down here. 

There were plenty of things she hated about herself, but there was one that topped them all: her extreme impulsiveness. Without much of a second thought, whatever it might be, she would do it with a spontaneous manner. Starting fires is one of them; at the age of seven she sat her backyard on fire, it would have ate the house in flames if it wasn't for her parents (don't tell anyone, but she's the one who started the fire in the pharmacy; and the one in the science lab in high school. Purposely might she say.) But once she's curious, she's gotta do what she's gotta do. And this is why her parents didn't want her to know about Derrys horrific history, because she would snoop around like she as been without a second thought. 

  
"Let me leave."

His blue eyes boarded into hers. He cocked his head to the side like a curious cat. "But don't cha' wanna float? We'll have so much fun down here. You and I."

She scrunched up her face in repugnance. "Like hell I will, you creepy bastard."

His long, serpent like tongue licked his teeth before he clicked it against the top of his mouth in taunt. "All these mean, cruel words. You wound Pennywise."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she jeered. "Let me find my fucks to give. Oh wait! I don't have any."

"If only you weren't spoiled. Your tasty fear-" But she didn't listen. She ran.

Despite every horrid thing that could have gone wrong. She got away. It took her forever to find the her way out of the hellish tunnels. And she found herself right in the Barron's, the stream nipped up at her already soaked state, crashing and foaming, threatening to knock her down with it because of the storm overhead. Then her foot caught onto something hard -- a rock -- and she fell face first into the snapping current.

The first thing her eyes had a pleasure of seeing once she lifted her head out of the water; eyes stung and coughing. She saw a pair of legs. Her (e/c) eyes traveled up the lanky, towering frame, before freezing at the familiar buck tooth smile. Then she completely froze when she met those gleaming blue eyes.

But he was gone within the blink of an eye. Literally.

Pennywise could have easily caught the small girl, how he could have let her rot in the sewers. But he didn't. He let her get away.


	6. Unwelcomed Visitor

**Gabriel Larson Found Dead In Her Own Backyard This Afternoon.**

  
_"Authorities have found the body of Gabriel Larson, seven, in the backyard of her house in Derry, Maine (November 28), WGME CBS NEWS reports._

_"Local authorities in Derry told WGME that they believe Gabriel Larson was mulled to death by a wild animal-"_

(Y/n) stared at the TV screen in comprehenson, horrifyingly calm as she leaned in her seat on the couch. She tried to soak up all the little, vague details. 

Her mouth tasted bitter. "That could have been me..." 

Louis came into the living room. "What was that?" She sat beside (Y/n) on the couch. One swift glance at her granddaughter and she knew something was wrong. "What's the matt-" then her grey eyes snapped at the television, which displayed the news. "Oh my..."

The news reporter repeated their report once again, before it switched back to the weather. 

(Y/n) saw this as evidence that she wasn't delusional. It's been two days since her parents funeral, since she'd ran into that thing in the sewers. 

  
Occasionally, as if taunting her, she would see things. _Balloons. _Brilliant red, huge and matte. She'd seen one in the store -- floating in the produce section, with no-one but her and the balloon -- and it was past ten at night. She was alone, besides the stockers and one cashier, she didn't know where the janitor was at. As she neared the balloon, it swelled, expanding two times its original size -- like that of a sponge in water. Then it popped. Right in her face. And then she felt something wet speckling her face, something red splattered over the waxed cream tiles and dozens of bunches of bananas. The red liquid was warm, sticky, and smelt of iron. She knew all too well what it was.

(Y/n) took a step back. One. Two. Three. Until her back collided with a hard chest.

"What's wrong, miss?" She snapped around to see an employee standing there, unfazed by her current state and the mess everywhere in the produce section.

She tried to find her voice. "Oh I'm sorry- I, yes. There is a mess by the bananas."

The employee turned his head to look behind her, shaking his head with a grin curled up his cheeks. "There is no mess, miss."

"Yes there is-" she turned around to look at the red puddle on the ground and pointed her slim index finger at it, "-see that stuff on the ground. Right there."

The employee chuckled. "Someone needs sleep. Have you been getting rest (Y/n)?"

She froze. "How- how do you know my name?" The man's grin widened into a toothy smile. Then she noticed something she wish she hadn't: his left eye drifted to the side, a familiar shade of blue that sparkled, even in the dark. _What the- _She backed away from the employee, dropping her basket of groceries in the process.

"Someone's going a little crazy up there," he cooed. "Seeing things..."

But that's all she remembered before she ran ungracefully out of the store.

She also could have sworn she was being haunted by her parents. Or her parents were haunting the house. They'd whisper sweet dread in her ears, a firm grip on her foggy mind, suffocating almost.

She hadn't told her grandma of her findings, nor of what she saw. For all she knew, she could really be seeing things; or her grandma would blow up like unstable, outdated fireworks in a drought.

"Poor child..." Louis said, oblivious that something worse happened. Maybe she knew -- maybe she just didn't want to worry (Y/n) further then what she already was.

She had to find a job fast if she wanted to stay in Derry (which she really didn't, but she couldn't pass off the house her parents left to her. Her apartment back in New Hampshire didn't have enough room for grandma, and she wasn't planning on dumping her in an elderly home like a stuck up bitch.)

So that's what (Y/n) did for the rest of the day. She searched for a job in this too-small town. It took her nearly three hours to find one that met her qualifications, another hour to fill out a resume, and do an interview all in the same day. She was more then glad to get it all done. But she couldn't shake this morning terrible news, it repeated in her mind like a broken record.

** **Gabriel Larson Found Dead In Her Own Backyard This Afternoon.** **

** **Gabriel Larson Found** ** ** Dead. **

** **Gabriel Larson** ** **.**

(Y/n) didn't know the child, but she felt like it was her fault. Of course it wasn't, the girl could have died either way. It was the matter of how and what killed the girl. She knew. _She knew. _It was that damn clown.

_

The sun cast its golden rays down upon the clouds of billowing smoke, turning them bright red; fire red. The sun was setting, telling her she should hurry up and get home before it turned dark.

_Damn, _she mentally cursed. _I should have took the car._

Of course she walked. Why would she take her car when town she was only a five to ten minute walk away. 

And she didn't mind it -- taking a nice stroll through the neighborhood. But that's the thing. The quickest route to town was through Niebet street, where the Well House resides. 

"Fuck," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around her midsection as she stared at the run down house; all she wanted to do was get home quickly and take a shower. But -- she wanted to venture again, question the fucking clown again. _Kick his ass, maybe. _

However, for once she took control of her vicious impulse and kept walking. 

She didn't notice until she was on her porch that she practically ran the rest of the way home. She was heaving, sweat coated her the top of her brows and made her shirt cling to her back. 

(Y/n) was worried about one other thing: her stuff back in New Hampshire. As she walked into her parents house -- now hers -- it was bare, none of it was hers. Its not like she had much to begin with, if not, she actually had more now. But somethings she'd wish she didn't see, like her mom's old and ugly elephant figure that was placed facing the front door -- so when you walk in, your greeted by the damn thing. And there was much more. 

But she didn't feel like bothering with shit right now. 

She walked leisurely to the shower, steam filling the room as she cut the shower on. She stripped down and stepped into the tub she'd been using for eighteen years -- cold ceramic pressed against her flinching toes.   
She bathed her skin lightly, closing her eyes as the heat soaked her skin-

"I see you."

Color drained from her face. Rooted to the tub, fingers stuck in her hair like gum -- her naked form grew rigid, unable to form any logic. She felt venerable. Utterly, painfully exposed.

"Come float down here with us." The voice came from the tubs drain, echoing from the pipes below. "We'll have so much fun."

(Y/n) unhinged herself from her stiff state and stumbled to the other side of the tub -- almost cracking her skull against the edge if she didn't catch the sides of the tub with slippery, jittery fingers. 

"Please don't go-"

She leaped out of the tub, one of her feet caught on the side of the bath inside, her hands catching the shower curtain in the process. Then she fell -- her face smacked first against steamy tiles. Dull pain flared up from her nose, but she ignored it. 

Her thumbing heart leaped up in her throat as she struggled and thrashed at the thing that wrapped around her soaked form, clinging and suffocating. She darted out of the bathroom with little regard of her naked situation and the running water. She didn't stop until she reached her room and slammed the door, locking it like it would protect her. She knew it wouldn't. 

Eyes widened, breaths ragged and harsh. Fear curled up inside her and clung to her ribs, settling uncomfortably in her chest. She didn’t doubt the feeling was there to stay, reminding her of its existence every time she opened her mouth to breathe. She peeled her wet back from the door, and slowly backed away from it still skeptical about everything that just happened.

Sooner or later she got back to her normal self and got dressed. It took a lot of courage and self persuasion to go back and shut the water off before her water bill went sky high. 

She wasn't surprised her grandma didn't hear any of her struggling; she was after all, a very heavy sleeper. 

(Y/n)'s fingers still trimbled from the traumatic experience. She needed sleep. But how could someone go to sleep after being scared shitless from a voice coming from the drain during her showering. 

It wasn't the oblivious situation that made her wide awake, it was Derry. History had a hold on her mind, and it played again and again, pictures and dates branded into her brain. And the main piece that tied everything together was in the form of a clown. He plagued her mind, purposefully. And he's been driving her nuts for the past few days. 

She nibbled on her delicate fingers out of nerves, now laid in bed under warm covers. It took her what felt like forever to finally fall asleep. 

_

(Y/n) was suddenly jolted awake unnaturally. Eyes flung open so wide, breathing hitched in her throat. Every hair on her body prickled from the sensation of being watched. 

Then, in the corner of her eye, she sees something shuffle in the dark. Or rather _someone. _The moon light from outside casted enough in the room for her to see a little.

Then everything went dark. 

But then has she snapped her head up at the ceiling -- two gleaming, rapturous blue irises met hers. And there, above her, was the clown himself. 

"Boo."


	7. Hidden Realization

****

Pennywise loomed over (Y/n)'s barely noticeable trembling body -- stuck to the ceiling like a spider, head backwards to look at the girl with bewildering amusement. And she stared right back with pure shock, the same shock she wore in the store and bathroom. That sent a strange tremor licking down his spine; the light fixture barely shook as he did so. Much to his disdain.

"W-w-why are you here?" she asked, but it didn't take her long to turn sour, clearly pissed. "Get out. Get out of my room. Get out of my house!" Dispite her brave commands, she stayed frozen in place under the false protection of blankets.

Pennywise chuckled, still up on the ceiling. "Ya know, I've killed a kid who used to live here. A young boy, I believe. It gets so tiresome keeping track when I kill so many." Pennywise loved the way her neck clinched at hearing that.

"You fucking luna-" but before she could finish he unhinged himself from the ceiling and flopped down on top of (Y/n) -- knees on either sides of her hips and hands placed beside her head. He craned his head down a little more until he was mere centimeters from her face, taking in every detail. Fear, that's what he was looking for (and a little of something else, like her origin, or something like that.)

She kept her eyes wide open as the clowns pungent breath wafted her own. He was too close for comfort.

_If this clown doesn't- _Then he sneezed... Right in her face.

His gloved hands clenched the sheets, and growled. "Days later and you're still rotten, spoiled."

(Y/n) tried sinking deeper in the mattress. "Get the fuck off me."

"Oh, dearie, I don't think so. There's something terribly wrong with you." Then he giggled, that mockery stroked the growing flames within her.

"And you're just perfectly dandy and normal?" (Y/n) snapped. She tried her damnest to get away, to shimmy out from underneath him, but she couldn't. Not with his gloved hand that crushed her collarbone now, some of his fingers pressed lightly to her throat. "Get your disgusting hands off me!" she hissed. Pennywise ignored her protests, and continued.

"Dandy as can be!" he said. "But you, my dear, you are not. I... I can't smell your fear."

(Y/n) didn't reply.

"Everything I've tried. Ive played hopscotch with your mind but still couldn't make sense of it. Even basic human fears -- nothing! You're either dead, or you're something new... _Different._"

"Or I just don't like being messed with by whatever the hell you are."

"I doubt it." He slinked away from her, now standing up on the foot of her bed. His neck bent against the ceiling from his height. He moved very slowly, like a lizard who had gotten too cold. "Riggedy riggedy white. Come and spend the night. We'll play some games. Some wild some tame. Cause if you will, you might."

She released a shallow breath. "What?"

Pennywises sickly smirk grew. "Let's play a game! You, me, and your dear ol' grandma."

All dread left (Y/n) at the mention of her family and she shot up from the bed. She gritted her teeth. "You leave her out of this."

"And if I don't?" he taunted.

"I'll shove my foot so far up your ass-" but he suddenly cut her off.

"Oh, what a naughty girl. How would dear mother react to such vulgarism." Without warning, his face twisted painfully, his head shrinking. Familiar, loving eyes she'd known for her entire life glared at her -- now crinkled at the edges in anger. There stood her mother.

"(Y/n) (M/n) (L/n)!" she scowled. "Watch your mouth and be nice! I raised you better then this."

The girls legs grew weak. "Your not my-"

"(Y/n)!" she shrieked. "Listen to your mother, and play with the nice clown."

She clinched her fist, fire flared in her chest, like a lit match to gasoline. "Leave me alone!" She picked up the first thing she could get her hands on -- which was a lamp -- and smashed it against her mother's- the clowns face. The impact caught Pennywise by surprise and nocked him off the bed and onto the floor.

She couldn't see over the bedframe, nor hear any signs of distress. She slowly peaked over the side and saw Pennywise laying on the floor. She silently cheered in her head.

But that bliss was suddenly yanked from her grasp as he rose to his feet as fast as he fell. His seven-foot frame shook with mirth as his attention engulfed the fuming woman.

He enjoyed toying with his prey, playing with the coils in their minds, tugging at the strings tied firmly around their limps like puppets. And when they finally reach their breaking point, when all hope is lost, and when he gets bored of them -- that's when he feeds. But this woman wasn't his prey, but a mere toy for him to play with out of his secluded amusement. He was also overly curious about her, more so then what he should be. He would be asleep right now if it wasn't for the woman. Soon he would grow bored of her and that's when he'll kill her.

His calm blue eyes suddenly changed to his menacing red ones, and chuckled in a sinister manner. "Someone's in need of a punishment!"

"Pennywise-" but she was cut off again, this time the deranged clown zapped at her and latched her hands within a heated second.

Despite her vigorous thrashing and kicks to his sturdy legs -- it was all in vain. (Y/n) wasn't strong enough to pry herself from him. He was dead set on not letting her go.

"One, two, three, maybe even four!" He playfully wiggled one of her fingers. "Or perhaps... The whole hand! That will teach ya to treat your guest nicely."

Dread, like a rock, dropped to the pit of her gut. "No! No, please."

His lips curled at her pleads, another shake slithering over his body in a quick pulse. "That's too bad..." He brought her index finger to his mouth, playfully nipping at it and watching every terrifying jerk in her body; and the way she tries to recoil from his touch, whimpering and yelping, felt intoxicating even though he couldn't smell her obvious fear.

"Don't!" she yelled. "Please!"

"Oh, I do like it when you beg. Come on, little human, beg for me to stop. Ol' Pennywise might even let ya go if you ask nicely." He contracted his grip, practically crushing her hands. (Y/n) winced in pain.

She swallowed her pride, realizing her fingers are more important. "Please, Pennywise."

He licked her finger with his long tongue -- that's when he realized how good she tasted, even though she didn't smell it -- but the after taste left a bitterness in the back if his throat. Bittersweet, she was. _Bitter. _

She was clearly disgusted by his sudden action, and terrified. Her face flushed in pure anger (and something else.)

"Sorry, what was that?" He cocked his head closer, even though he could hear perfectly fine. "I couldn't hear ya."

"Please don't bite me, Pennywise."

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at eachother daringly. Then his eyes shifted to blue again and he released his steely grip on her wrist. He didn't feel like taking a bite from her _yet._

"I can't guarantee that." He stepped away from her, but only but a little. "Until next time."

Then he was gone.

__

(Y/n) felt like someone took it upon themselves to hit her outside the head with a shovel. The light that leaked through the blinds speckled her room, and when it hit her withering gaze, she couldn't help but stiffen up in pain. Her brain drummed against her skull like it wanted to be set loose. As she got dressed for the day -- more specifically work -- every muscle in her body fought against her in an unprovoked war. She was tired, defeated. Three days of no sleep will do that to you.

_Crash!_

Fear jolted her body to wake, and she quickly made her way to the sound.

But it was just her grandma in the kitchen... Cooking breakfast. A pan that fell from the cabinet laid on the floor as the older woman worked like a bee around the small area. Flipping eggs, checking waffles, chopping fresh fruit. The smell alone made her mouth water, and the dread disappeared as her appetite grew.

The older woman smiled warmly at (Y/n). "Good morning."

She tried to hide her bitter attitude. "Morning."

Louis sat a plate down on the table and knitted her brows at her, worriedly. "(Y/n), you look dog-tired. You didn't get sleep, did you?"

The younger woman didn't answer.

Louis sighed. "Is it because of what I've told you?"

She poured herself a cup of life saving coffee. "No."

"I love you, that's why I'm worried. You can tell me anything, you know that right? I'm here for you."

"Gran, I'm fine. Really," she said, faking a smile for Louis's sake. "I'm just stressed."

Her grandma pursed her wrinkled lips, not buying her granddaughters story. But she let it go. "Alright, sweetie. Eat your breakfast, you need the energy." (Y/n) thanked her and excepted the warm hug Louis gave; and sat down to eat her breakfast with her grandma on the other side.

(Y/n) couldn't get the events of last night out of her head. They plagued her being; _he _had a strong grip on her reality, his ill-mannered laughter and toothy smile was branded in her memories. He was real, Pennywise was real.

She hated the overpowering dominance he held over her. Her almost nonexistent pride was shattered to unfixable pieces now. She tried so hard to forget the event, just for today. She knew that would be impossible.

She was sitting bleary-eyed at the table, munching her way slowly through a mouthful of waffle. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, she stopped munching. Her jaw went slack. Her eyes glazed over blankly and her head nodded forward. 

Next thing - _whomp_!- her head landed right smack on the plate in front of her.

She already knew today was going to be _great. _


	8. Omen

  
(Y/n) had many unanswered questions, and that's what set her off. The unknown. Not knowing -- even though it's best to be left in the dark, some might say -- is what's driving her insane. She always seemed to get herself into trouble but this, however, was beyond anything of her comprehension. She was expecting bodies, or an old journal, but a monstrous clown?

_Sign me up for Crazytown because I've booked the next flight. _

So she was going to find her answers, or at least attempt to. What thing is, why he's here, and why he keeps terrorizing her. She was determined.

There was a rolling blanket of grey covering the afternoon sky. Brown leaves drifted in the streets of down town. Her muscles flexed from strain from doing ten hours of work, her mind numb of any thoughts. But even though her current exhaustion was drowning her in its quack, she wanted answers.

_I don't need sleep. I need answers. _

So that's what she's doing, making her way to the public library in search of anything regarding the _supernatural. _Perhaps Pennywise- or whatever the hell that thing is, is something supernatural. Or maybe _worse. _She hoped not.

Maybe it's all in her brain. But she knew it wasn't -- not with the visible bruises on her wrist.

Then she spotted something from the corner of her eye. A store. One she hasn't seen before.

_Was it there before or- _she thought.

**Hexes and Jinxes**, the dry-rot sign said. It was small and cramped between two buildings she knew well. So how did that one get there? Her mind was tripping on itself at this point.

Courosity got the best of her and she went into the small shop. As soon as she stepped in, she was smacked with an over abondent scents of varies incense and candles. They were so pungent her head began to swirl, a sharp stab at her temple. She scrunched up her nose but still ventured in.

The interior was much like its exterior: tiny, cramped, and run-down. The black paint on the walls chipped and cracked from old age, revealing wooden panels underneath. The floor was the same, inky and dull from ware. The decor, however, was different. There were green, lushes plants placed here and there; one was by the door, one of the bookshelf, some hung from the ceiling in buckets. It made the place have more life, and that was just about it. The rest of the stuff was books and trinkets, and a... Sword? The place was strange, but it sort of grew on you after a little. In an eerie, wiccan manner.

There was no-one behind the counter, or in sight.

"Hello?" (Y/n) called.

No response.

"Um- is anyone here...?" Still no answer.

She was about to leave the shop, until her gaze snapped to the one thing she was looking for. She subconsciously found it over the sea of brown and black covers.

**The Paranormal and Supernatural**.

Without hesitation, she plucked the bright book from the bookshelf. It was a shade of maroon, with a bold white font. It was surprisingly small in depth, but the book itself was a beast in size. Dramatically so.

She skimmed the pages, ruled out what that thing could be. He definitely couldn't be a werewolf, or a vampire. Perhaps a spirit? No. A demon, most likely. _Demon. _

She finally found the chapter about Demons in a matter of seconds, but before she could read a single word a gritty voice behind her made her jump, almost dropping the book from jittery nerves.

"You'll have to pay for that if you wish to read it."

When (Y/n) did turn around, she was met with a short, heavy-set woman that must be in her early ninies. She couldn't see much of her features besides the rolls of wrinkles because of the black cloak she wore, but she could see the frown that the old woman wore.

She quickly closed the book, and tried to hide her annoyance. "Oh, I'm sorry. You must be the owner."

"Indeed I am. If you wish to buy that book it's ten dollars."

She could try her luck at the library, but she just wanted to get this done and over with; her tired state is what drove her at this point. Not to mention how long it would take her to find a book that pertained to such a topic.

"Alright," (Y/n) said. Without further reply the old woman walked behind the counter, patiently waiting.

But something else caught her attention -- something mounted to the wall close to the counter. A symbol weaved from some coarse material she couldn't place. Animal hair, maybe? It had three circles inside a large one, a line cut through the middle and curved at the edges. She didn't know what it was.

(Y/n)'s hand extended towards it ever so gently - _zap_! - it lit up from her close proximity and burned her extended finger. She jumped back from it and dropped the book in the process. Her hand, which was now seemingly felt on fire, was a light pink.

The owner was in a frenzy, quickly shuffling from behind the counter. "You! Get out of my shop!"

Still cradling her hand in shock, she was more shocked at the old woman's hostile behavior. "Excuse me?"

"Out. Now. I will not have cursed objects... Or _people _in my shop!" she seethed.

"Cursed? What do you mean?"

"You have something retched inside you, girl. Bad omen." The old woman began to shoo (Y/n) towards the exit with waving arms, but she stood her ground.

"I'm not cursed!" she said. "Can I at least buy the book?"

"Yes you are. That relic on the wall, that's the sign on life. It detects anything of bad intentions, cursed, supernatural-"

"That's not true! I- I can't be."

The woman's lips frowned, now shaking her head. "Blasted place brought me to the wrong person..." she mumbled under her breath. But (Y/n) heard her just fine.

"'Brought you to the wrong person'?" she asked. _Another crazy old hag._

"That doesn't concern you, _quia anathema est,_" the owner seethed. "Get out before you attract that prodigium." She forcefully guided (Y/n) out the door, completely forgetting the discarded book on the floor.

_Is she speaking in latin, _she asked herself. _Her shop is identical to her, almost. Loony and something else. _

(Y/n) firmly gripped the door, keeping it from closing on her. "What do you mean!? Please answer me."

The owner sighed. "Look, girl, watch your back. Something is impar about you, something wrong. Your soul... I don't sense it, if you ever had one. _Omen_. Something is after you. That's all I can say."

"Something is after me," she repeated, tasting the words for herself. "I'm trying to get rid of it."

The owner scowled, disgust painted on her features. "Child, you may not believe me when I say this but I know you will not be able to get rid of such a malum presence. It's attached to you like you are to it. I've _seen _the future."

(Y/n) knitted her eyebrows together. "What is it, then? If you know everything," she snapped.

"Something horrendus." And then the owner slammed the door in (Y/n)'s face.

And has she casted her heated glance at the source of her discomfort one last time, it was gone.

The store vanished -- like it was never there to began with -- and in its place was the alleyway she remembered.


	9. Tip Toe Through the Sewers

"-By the window, that is where I'll be.  
Come tip-toe through the tulips with me," Pennywise hummed to himself, digging his finger into poor little Tony's eye socket. With his index and thump wrapped securely around the squishy tissue -- he popped out Tony's eyeball from the his slacked head and tossed it into his mouth like a kid would with chocolate M&Ms. He felt it slither down his throat, not having to chew the small morsel.

It didn't taste as nearly refreshing as it did when it was fresh, but this will have to do. Pennywise knew better after all, to draw unwanted attention wasn't on his to-do list. So he couldnt get more. Of course, he could make the people of Derry forget, but that wouldn't change the fact that he couldn't stop the news that these damn humans spread.

It's official: he couldn't go back to sleep. The mass shooting is what awoke him, and it's that _human _that's keeping him awake. She was toying with his mind, and he couldn't help but want to kill her because of it.

"Knee deep in flowers we'll stray.  
We'll keep the showers away," he continued, picking up the mangled body and letting the rotting corpse float in the air again.

He couldn't get rid of that damn song either, it was stuck in his mind.

"And if I kiss you in the garden.  
In the moonlight, will you pardon me?" He broke out into another fit of laughter. "What a ridiculous song."

Pennywise sinked against the moist ground, picking through his jumbled thoughts while peering at nothing in particular.

_Bored_, he thought.

He plucked something small and cream colored from a puddle of water. He held it up to have a better look and it's... A finger bone. He bitterly tossed it away.

He was deep rooted inside the sewers -- his 'home' in this little slice of Derry. Where he kept all his trinkets and past memories in a messy pile. There were other things as well that came floating in the sewers that intrigued Pennywise, like a strange glow in the dark stick. To his disappointment, it lost its glow.

Much like that female that plagued his interest, the fact he couldn't sense any distress except by physical view was what drew him in. How she smelt strange. Her reactions. He didn't prey on adults because children tasted better, but she was an exception.

Or was she his prey? He, although will say yes despite, didn't know. He didn't plan on eating her -- unless she tastes good, that is. She was merely a play thing, he'll toy with her sanity, maybe even play Ring-around-the-rosie with it. Then he'll kill her. _Kill her. Kill her. _

"How grand that will be!" he said to no-one in particular, and giggling a little. _How will I kill her? Oh! Her 'parents' will kill her, or perhaps I could tear her limp by limp, just to see what she is exactly. Or I could- _But he suddenly froze.

He faintly heard the echos of a familiar voice from the tunnels. If he didn't have good hearing, he wouldn't have picked up the small tone. But it didn't come from within the sewers itself, oh no, it came from up top, gutters letting him hear in an the conversation.

That's when he more than eithastically slinked back into the darkness, giddily gliding through the tunnels without even a sound. And within a second he was there, right underneath _her _feet. However, she was with someone else.

"What is it Ronny?" (Y/n) asked. She didn't bother passing the tall man an ingaging glance.

"It's been years," the brunette began. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Five years, and probably more. Since when did you care, hmm?" she spat. Ronny was one of the many people who made fun of her during her childhood. He wasn't so unbearable in high school, he just ignored her.

"Look (Y/n), I'm sorry for how much of an ass I was back then. I was driven by peer-pressure, and pint up aggression," he admitted. That confession surprised her. "But, I know how it is to have no parents. I'm sorry for your loss. If you need anything, anything at all, just let me now."

She cracked a fake smile up at him, but she still held up her guard. "Uh, it's ok."

He returned the smile. "So, you wouldn't mind grabbing a cup of joe with me?"

She hesitated, subconsciously stepping away from the man. "No, I'm in a bit of a hurry. I'm afraid to leave Gran home alone for so long." It wasn't particularly a lie, but she wasn't in a hurry.

"Some other time then?"

"Sure."

Then the pair exchanged goodbyes and went their separate ways.

Pennywise cocked his head to the side, stepping from behind a tree and watched the girl walk down the sidewalk. His gaze was unwavering and unabashed. Those blues eyes did not travel up to her face or down to her shoes, but they followed her as if really focusing on something a couple of feet further away. Perhaps his predatory nature lead him to be locked in thought as he observed, it was hard to know. But he made no move to follow. She quickened her pace to the street corner and melted into the Derry dinner rush.


	10. The Boy

  
Breath pale against the numbing air, (Y/n) blinked thoughtfully as the frost patiently kissed her face, captivated by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sat heavy on her eyelashes. She loved watching snow fall, but today wasn't the case. It was the wet kind that soaked through every article of clothing and doesn't stick to the ground. She still found it pretty though, as it fluttered through the air then fell to the wet ground.

She wrapped her arms around a heavy cardboard box, lifting it out of the backseat of her car and almost stumbled from the weight of the books inside.

Taking the box inside the much warmer, welcoming house, she sat it down beside all the rest.

The house was bare, empty of any life beside herself. Her grandma was out doing whatever she does on Sunday's, probably taking a stroll around town.

As she went out to get her last remaining box, a young boy, around six or so, was splashing and stomping in the icy puddles on the street. He wore a yellow rain slicker, a good coat to wear when it's raining, but it was freezing on this December day. The boy had his hood pulled over his head to block the wet snow that fell. She couldn't tell if this kid was from her neighborhood. Everyone knows everyone in Derry, that's what they say. She didn't.

She brought her attention back to the matter at hand and reached over in her car -- grabbed a hold of the box, unaware it was coming undone at the bottom -- and pulls it firmly.

Then all her pans fell out and scattered on the concrete driveway. A few took it upon themselves to roll away.

(Y/n) grunted in frustration. "Ugh." She held the bridge of her nose. She bent down and began to pick the ones by her feet, and when she was done with that she threw them in the car in anger. She was about to get the others when the stack of pots appear in her line of sight, along with the boy who was carrying them.

He wore a toothy smile that reached his dimples. "You drop these, miss!" He held the pots out to her.

She beamed at the brunnete boy and took them. "Thanks."

"Did you just move here?" he asked.

"No. Well, sort of. I've lived here my whole life, but I just came back."

"Really?"

"Yep," she said. "What's your name, kid? I haven't seen you around the neighborhood, you just move here?"

"I'm Georgie! And no, I've always lived here."

"Well, hello Georgie. I'm (Y/n)." The boy giggled.

"Nice to meet you, (Y/n)." His cheerful smile suddenly disappeared into a frown. The boy passed a glance at her house, like he just seen a ghost, and pointed at it. "I used to live there."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

The boy couldn't have, her parents owned this house longer then this boy's been alive.

He shook his head. "Ayuh."

"I think you got the wrong house," she said.

The way the boy stared longingly at the house unsettled her a bit.

"Oh, ok," he dismissed, eyes glued to the building still glossed. "It was nice meeting you (Y/n), but I have to go or Billy will burn my hide."

"Alright, and thank you for the help," she said. Georgie gave her a thumbs up in farewell and ran off.

(Y/n) tries her luck in fixing the box, but to no avail, she couldn't. Not even two minutes later and an ear piercing scream shook her from her spot. A scream of a little boy.

Boots slapping against wet pavement, she storms into the street where the cries are coming from. Her eyes dart each and every way, before bright yellow catches her attention. Then she sees Georgie -- being sucked up into a gutter.

She rushes over to the gutter. "Georgie!"

"Help me!" he said, gurgling like he had water in his mouth. Then his terrified face appeared in the dark, mouth wide open coughing up grey water and his eyes held beads of unspilt tears. His face drained of color as he bobbed back under. She couldn't see him no more.

Next thing she knew, she slid into the gutter without better judgment, now in the sewers that reeked of Derry waste.

At first she couldn't see anything, dark and dreary. She couldn't tell the tunnels apart, grey mucky walls and a flowing stream of musty water mixed with gunk. Screams of a wailing boy is what almost made her slip on her behind, but that's also what guided her through the sewers. She'd catch a glance of faint yellow before it turned a sharp corner, then she would follow, calling out the boys name repeadly.

She knew. She _knew _Pennywise had to be behind this. Georgie was his next victim, his next meal. He's already taken two kids -- little does everyone know, she knew at least -- and now a third. To be honest, she didn't care for children, per say, but that didn't mean it wasn't vile. Children were easy targets, after all.

She frantically stumpled in the dark. "Georgie, where are you?"

"(Y/n), please help me! T-theres a c-clown trying to eat me!"

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, where a gaint, rusted door creaked a crack. The handle was moist and clammy. She shoved the door open and stepped into the barely lit room, large and roomy. A gaint pile of garbage in the middle.

And there, right in the middle, stood Georgie. He stared up at the heap of junk before snapping his attention to the other figure in the room. He was frozen in fright.

He shook. "H-help me!"

(Y/n) didn't even think, she just did. Her arms swung around the trembling small boy -- she underestimated his weight, horribly so -- and stammered over to the only known exit.

"Don't worry I'll get you out of-" she was startled, the door slammed shut, almost grazing her nose. Wet, a smell of something rotting. She peered down at Georgie.

Only to realize he's missing an arm now. One of his eyes -- the left one -- drifted out of focus. His once cute baby dimples were now a menacing grin that stretched from ear to ear.

The little boy wrapped his free arm around her neck, still in her wobbly arms. "I do enjoy being held like this. Especially by _you_."

(Y/n)'s first instinct was to drop him, however, she couldn't. Not with his steely digits digging into the back of her shoulder. An arm, much like a maggot barrowing out of rotting flesh, popped out from the mangled joint on his shoulder. It shot out and wrapped around her fragile neck.

Georgie's legs quadruple in size, arms doing the same; now firmly placed between her shoulder blades, the other snaked around her neck, long fingers lightly squeezing her air flow.

And now he loomed over her -- now cladded in the sickening clown suit -- and where Georgie head was, was now the fucking clown himself. He didn't bother releasing his grip.

Pennywise dipped his head lower, trying to intimidate (Y/n). "Are ya ready for a game? Of course you are!"


	11. Strange Accquintances (1989)

  
The sun was at its highest on that bleak July day. To a rooted southerner the weather would be considered as cool, only mere spring weather, but to the people in Maine it was the hottest month of the year that ranged in the seventies. There were no clouds, bright and lively. Usually there would be neighbor kids playing, especially considering it was summer. But something swallowed Derry in unfamable dread, a bone chilling fright that nipped at the fears of parents and children.

There was an old, small house near the outskirts of Derry, white and pristine, yet worn and aged from weather. In the even smaller yard was a red blanket sprawled over the green blades of week old cut grass. Sitting on the blanket was a young woman in her mid twenties, a two year old girl was in front of her playing with her stuffed animal. Happy. That's what they were. Oblivious to the storm brewing just below them.

Of course, the new mother was alert and very watchful. Her thoughtful gaze would skim over the surrounding houses before falling back to her precious, rosy cheeked little girl with a loving smile pulled over her teeth. The little girl would return it back, her baby cheeks pulled as her pink lips curled.

But the calm atmosphere wavered a bit -- of a loud crash and a string of curses followed.

"God fucking-" the little girls father said, more words then the little girl should have heard at that delicate age.

"(F/n)!" Her mother shot off the blanket and was quick at the man's side, whom had fallen from the ladder on the roof. "Are you all right?"

"I think I might have broken something-" he grunted as he lifted himself from the ground with the help of her mother. A sharp stabbing pain slithered up his torso -- he tried to hide his pain. He couldn't. Not from his own wife.

"We need to get you to the hospital."

"No I'll be fine-"

But little (Y/n) didn't listen to her parents worried conversation, nor did she run over to them like she would have if she didn't see something bright from the corner of her eye.

And what she saw was a red lush wild flower.

She picked herself up on wobbly legs. Like the child she was, she ran right up to that flower which so happened to be out of sight from her parents.

(Y/n)'s tiny fingers grazed over the petals. The flower -- much like herself -- was only a small spouting. Soon it would bloom into a matured flower, before dying. Much like her.

"Hello-" a voiced said. It drifted through the air like a chilling breeze, snapping (Y/n)s attention away from the flower.

There, right in front of her face, was the most beautiful thing she ever saw. Or so from what her two year old state could think.

A red balloon.

Without thinking, she tried to grab it. But the balloon had a mind of its own, like it had a invisible string tugging it away from her eager palms. The balloon pulled the two year old further down the path.

"(Y/n)!" she could barely hear the worried callings from her mother as she trudged deeper into the forest, arms out trying to catch the balloon.

(Y/n) was (and still is) foolishly impulsive, a gene passed on by her father. And that impulsiveness started from the earlier age of two -- at this very moment.

Within seconds she was at the edge of the Barrens, feet in the shallow water, and her sandles were soaked. She could feel the dirt and water shifting through her toes. It was earthy, fresh and crisp, a hint of raw soil. She kept on until the creak reached to her stomach. Then, just like that, the balloon halted right above her head. She reached up -- and snagged it from mid air.

Her chubby face beamed. "Bawoon!"

"Hiya (Y/n)," someone said. "You've found my balloon I see!"

The little girl peered up from her balloon. First her eyes darted in front of her, here and there. Then she heard a hum behind her. And what she saw made her smile grow.

"Clown!" She cheered, almost jumping, then she thought. Her smile fell. "This your bawoon?"

The clowns lips curled and he stepped closer. He bent his back down to look at the child better. "Well, yes it is. But cha know what? I'll let you keep it."

(Y/n) didn't know the concept of stranger danger. The thought of a clown randomly being in the Barrens was weird didn't cross her young mind either.

"Twank you," she said. "What your name?"

"I'm Pennywise!" he said, enthusiasticly jiggling like someone dropped ices down his pants. "-the Dancing Clown."

"That a funny name."

Pennywise chuckled. "I suppose it is, my child."

There was one thing Pennywise despised the most and that was children. This little girl didn't change his mind, either. Usually kids her age were scared of such things -- clowns. But (Y/n) seemed to like it, glad to see such a thing like him.

The child also resembled something of the strange sort. Sweet, that's what they usually were. But her, she was a different story. The little girl was overly sweet and stingy. With a hint of rancid. Almost unappetizing.

Pennywise was about to go ahead and eat the little girl inspite, but he suddenly tensed up. His heavy breathing suddenly halted, stuck in his throat like a lodged bone. He felt an unfamiliar pressure on his legs. He looked down and saw the source of his discomfort -- the little girl. She was hugging him. Her short arms were thrown around his calves, the top of her head didn't even reach the top of his knees. She was a small child, smaller than average even for her age. He couldnt make out her gibberish from the way her face was muffled against his pants.

"(Y/n)! Honey, where are you? (Y/n)-" her mother called out.

"(Y/n)!" her father called, too.

The girl let go of the clown. "Mommy! Daddy! I have bawoon-" She turned around, towards where her parents were calling from. "And a new fwen!"

Her mother was the first to brake through the tree line, then her father who was limping with a masked pained expression. The mother scooped the little girl in her arms.

"Oh my god, you almost gave me a heartattack," she said, relieved. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "Don't ever run off like that again! You could have... You could have-" She squeezed her baby closer to her, like she was her life line. She couldn't bare to loose her child, if she had, she didn't know what she'd do.

Her father was by her side in an instant, hands clunching his side. "She deffaintly gave me a heartattack."

The little girl held up her red balloon and tried to look beyond her mother's shoulder, but pointed behind her. "Look what Pwennyise gave me! A bawoon."

Her father eyebrows scrunched in suspension. "Who's Pennywise? Where?"

"Wight behind you."

But when they turned around, no-one was there.

"What do you mean? Who is Pennywise?" her mother asked.

(Y/n) pouted. "He was right there-"

"Honey," her father interrupted. "Who is Pennywise? Did he drag you out here?"

"He a clown!" she beamed, smiling at the red balloon in her hands. "No. I came here all myself."

Her mother sighed. "So 'Pennywise' gave you that balloon?"

"Yes!"

"Are you for sure he was a clown?"

"Yes. He look funny."

"Let's just get her home first," her father suggested. "We'll ask her again then."

"Alright," she said. "But you need to go see a doctor first."

(Y/n) blocked them out once more, staring at the Barrens as they left. She didn't see the clown, and she'd never see him again. Not until twenty years later, uncoincidentally.

But in that moment, she still held the balloon in her small hands.


	12. Games

  
Dead dead dead. Say it enough times and it becomes just another word. What is the real meaning of death, one might ask. Why, if there truly is a god, have every beautiful soul parish in such a short time span. Life is just a beautiful lie. Death is the terrible truth.

(Y/n) also knew when death was coming at her with his pants down. Times like these were nothing but one event after the other, horrible situations. Depressing. But that's what they were, just situations. Nothing but time could tell -- and fix.

That very moment, deep down in the horrifying sewer system, she stood her ground against a seven foot clown who seemingly lored her down to his own little slice of hell. This predicament was a whole new level of fuckery.

"Tick tick tick goes the clock... Which will it be? A family fun game, or would ya prefer to get down to the point?" Pennywise asked, relishing her barely noticeable quivering bottom lip, and the way it was turning a shade of blue from the cold.

(Y/n) didn't know what to do. Her mind -- drowning in unspeakable thoughts, most tried to swim to the surface but was pulled back under by her sliver of commonsense -- stayed locked up.

(Y/n) grimaced. "I'm not playing your games."

He tsked, shaking his head in disappointment. "What a shame, I had so much planned for us..." His white face brightened suddenly, holding up a gloved finger in senuation. "Tell me, little birdie: how much does it take to make ya sing? To ruffle those feathers of ya -- A kiddie! Oh, the children, poor poor little humans. A kids gonna die today because of ya."

Fear dropped to the pit of her gut -- like she swallowed a bunch of rocks. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, and sure enough, she was awake by the sting and metallic taste that swelled on her tongue. This was actually happening. A kids life was at stack here -- or so he says.

"You don't have them," (Y/n) tested.

"Do I?" Pennywise repeated. "Then why would I be mentioning such things-" he trudged off somewhere, still in sight, to the pile of junk. He grabbed a hand full of an unconscious little girls hair and forcefully yanked her off a pile of what used to be stuffed animals. She began to scream, clawing at the clowns gloved hands that had a firm grip on her. (Y/n) stared with a doe in headlights look, mouth agap, and frozen in her spot like she was cemented to the ground. When Pennywise dropped the little girl to the ground in front of her was when she suddenly snapped out of her stupidity.

(Y/n)'s clenched her hands into fist, her body trembling from pure anger. "You sick fuck-"

He interrupted her, mocking her. "Shh, now now. Now what will it be." His eyes flashed, fiery, desire swirling chaotically. "You, or the girl?"

She didn't know what to do, once again. This, however, was worse. Her or the girl? Either way they both would die, she knew. She _knew. _

Speaking of which, the little girl, was about six years old. Her tiny fingers wiped and smudged at the salty tears that leaked down her red cheeks, curling her feet underneath her. The kid pleaded with (Y/n), repeating 'please' and 'help me' before Pennywise hissed at her to shut up out of annoyance.

"And if I chose to play your little game, will you let the kid go?"

"You have my word."

(Y/n) could see straight through the clowns bullshit. But she had no choice.

_No choice my ass! I could knock him out, maybe, and we'll get away! _

She mentally facepalmed at herself. _Stupid. _That's what she is.

"Dumb fuck..." she mumbled under her breath. She cleared her throat and faked a reassuring smile down at the little girl. "Fine, I'll play. But you're going to have to let the child go _before_."

"Before?" Pennywise tapped his chin, thoughtfully, and slightly narrowed his blue eyes at (Y/n). "But we need an audience! It will make things the more merrier."

"No. You let the kid go now. Or else."

"Or else what, hmm?"

"I'll kill you."

He laughed, hysterically. "Nothing is more hilarious then a human thinking they can get rid of me. You're not the first, and certainly won't be the last. I can't be killed, silly."

"Everything can die," she said. "Even... Whatever the hell you are."

"Exactly, my dear. But do tell me, what am I?" He brought himself closer, snaring in her face. "What _am _I?!"

(Y/n) grimaced -- bared teeth, she brought her face closer. Their foreheads almost clashed. She hissed. "You answer that yourself."

"Well well well," he began, not backing down. "I'll answer that little question of yours if you can win this first round."

"What-" He held up his hand, stopping her.

"Why not start with something simple? Why not hiding and go seek. I'll hide-" He giggled, knowingly. "And you'll try to find me."

(Y/n) sent him a questioning gaze. "What makes you think I won't run?"

"The child."

_Damn me and having to be a decent human being. _

"And if I find you?" she asked.

"I'll answer your question. After three rounds, then I'll set ya free." A menacing shadow casted over his features. "But if ya don't, you'll die! You and the girl."

She paused, throat clamping together -- like she was choking. One. Two. Three. Time seemed to be slipping right through the cracks of reality. What felt like minutes were only a few seconds before she answered the demented clown in a low, unwavering tone.

"Fine."

"Splendid." Then he disappeared.

The little girl was still trembling in place, unmoved. Her big brown eyes darted to very corner of the place.

Her bottom lip trembled. "He's gonna, he's gonna..."

"No he's not," (Y/n) stated. She already knew the clown wouldn't let her find him, she just _knew. _

Pennywise did, after all, want (Y/n) dead. Both of them: dead.

But she wasn't going to let them become his next meal.


	13. Hurt

  
The concept of time seemed to be irrelevant in a sense to (Y/n), considering she had no clue what time it was. Or how long she's been down there. Or if it was dark yet. How else was she going to find a way out -- no light at the end of the tunnel, bleak darkness. The same twisting, tugging that ravaged within the cloud that was her mind.

No hope - the little girl, who hadnt bothered to mutter a single word, was a clattering mess of tears and snot.

And as they trudged deeper into the maze under Derry, straying further from the belly of the beast, (Y/n) tried not to appear as so. She figured she'd have better luck at finding an exit than the fucking clown.

_"Let me eat her, and I'll let you live," _said the raspy voice in her head. _"A life, for a life." _

"No," she muttered under her breath, squeezing her eye shut.

(Y/n) had no clue how she was able to hear him inside her head. Pennywise was like a tick -- a pest that attached himself to her, unable to get rid of, suckling the little fear he could find. Or perhaps she was going mad, completely off her rocker. Maybe that's what he wants. He wanted her to kill the child.

_"Come on then, child. Play with your dear Ol' Pennywise. I'm closer then you think."_

"Shut up and leave me the hell alone," (Y/n) growled. She ignored the strange look the little girl was giving her.

_"_ _I can't do that. We are connected, you and I."_

She grunted in frustration, fingers curling in her hair and tugged- desperate to sink herself back into reality. The girls small, frail voice is what rooted her back, as she spoke in a hushed tone.

"Why are you talking to yourself?"

"Can you hear him- inside your head too? Or am I the only one that gets the pleasure of having a clown bitching at me in my head like I'm a complete wack job."

"Nah huh."

"Great. Just what I needed."

"Are you- we actually looking for him?"

(Y/n) scowled, not at her, but at the predicament. "Which ever comes first. Him, or our way out."

Pieces of debree and gunk flew out of her matted blonde hair as she shook her head -- fearful, wide eyes and fidgeting hands on the hem of her shirt. "I've already tried that. We can't. Not if he doesn't want us to leave."

A lump formed thickly in her throat. "How long you've been down here."

"I... I can't remember."

(Y/n)'s lips tugged down into a frown, shifty eyes, squinted. The patter of water from a pipe in the ceiling. A hungry rat scavaging for a meal.

A creep of a shadow -- some how a mass darker then the pitch black that ingulfed their surroundings. A painful shock licked at her ankles, slithering up her legs like raking claws, rattling her spine and making every hair on her stiffened body stand up. Her breathing hitched as it got closer and closer. (Y/n) wasn't ready to fight a homicidal, carnivorous child-eating clown -- but who is? Hopefully, if it really was Pennywise, that he was true to his word. But she knew there was more to this game, more to what he said.

The shadow grew bigger.

A soft noise.

Then there it was-

Another fucking rat.

(Y/n) released the breath she didn't know she was holding, tension melting from her bones. She brought the back of her palm to wipe the sweat from her clammy forehead. The muscles in her legs unstiffened as she brought one leg in front of the other -- falling back into a brisk pace to hopefully where there's an exit. Icy adrenaline trickled through her veins. A thundering drum pounded in her chest, creeping up her neck to whisp in her ear. She could hear her own heart beat -- that was good.

"(Y/n)-"

The woman's head snapped to face the younger girl, brows knitted together in confusion, ignoring what she was saying. "How do you know my name. I don't think I've told you."

"You didn't."

"Then how do you-"

"Pennywise... He was planing out loud. I don't think he's going to let us go."

"That's completely obvious," (Y/n) uttered dryly.

"You know, I was on my way home from school when the gift I made for my mama flew from my hands when I fell. Wanna know where it went? Down here. I worked so hard on that flower pot. Painting it, making sure I stayed inside the lines of the design I drew with crayon. I was so afraid that I broke it -- and lost it. That should have been the least of my worries."

The woman sighed. "Shit kid-"

"Milly," the little girl corrected. "My name is Milly."

(Y/n) tried to flash her the most convincing reassuring smile she could muster, seeing the current situation. But Milly's face, what she could see at least, was still drooped; her tiny hands still fidgeted with the hem of her stained coat.

"Well Milly, we need to get out of here. If I could find a storm drain..." Her attention darted from the sewer path to the upper walls -- she couldn't find no indication of a drain, no sound from the bustling street from the surface. Nothing. "I came down here through a storm drain. There should be some. Somewhere. We could climb up through one of them."

Milly hummed. "I hadn't thought of that. Not like I could reach it, though."

"You said you were going home from school. Don't kids your age need supervision?" (Y/n) asked.

Milly wore a guilt expression, eyes casted down at the ground. "Yes. I... I snuck out of the group when we were walking."

"I feel sorry for whoever was supposed to watch you. Probably been chewed and spit out by now." (Y/n) winced at her horrible choice of words. "Not literally, hopefully."

Milly shook her head. "She's mean anyways. I hope she leaves."

(Y/n) lightly snickered.

Milly's teeth clattered harshly, the dank, chilly underground seeped into her fragile bones and nipped visousily at her rosy nose. She squeezed her trembling arms around her torso in a sad attempt to preserve body heat. She was wearing a purple long-sleeve and a decent plush white coat (only, her coat wasn't white anymore, her sleeves were stained of pure filth, and she'd figure it'd be best to burn it then wash it after this) but she was still cold. Oh so very cold.

(Y/n) noticed this.

The woman cursed under her breath. _Why did I have to be stuck with a kid, damn it._

Her own numb fingers grasped the zipper to her own jacket and tugged it down. She shedded her protective layer -- now in an oversized hoodie with only a T-shirt underneath -- and draped the jacket over the little girl.

_Fuck, it's cold_, (Y/n) thought. She quickly felt the cold seeping between the fibers of her shirt and shivered. Dispite her dislike of children, she still felt the instinct to protect the little girl. She didn't know why.

"Why did you give me your jacket? You need it."

"Not as much as you."

"But-"

"Just shut it, ok? Wear the jacket."

The little girls chapped lips tugged at the corners, a small smile gracing her dirty face. This was the first time (Y/n) saw the kid smile -- different then the fear etched on her face since she first met her.

"Thank you," Milly said.

(Y/n) returned the smile. "No problem kid."

The little girl swolled back a cry, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. "No, really. Thank you. I- I thought I was never going to leave this place."

(Y/n) lightly placed a cold hand on Milly's shivering shoulders, and squeezed reassuringly. "It'll be alright Milly-"

(Y/n) stiffened, small arms wrapped around her stomach like they were clinging to dear life. A small head of messy blonde hair nuzzled into her stomach. Then she heard it. Milly was crying; the little girls tears soaked into (Y/n)s hoodie. She hesitated for a second, then returned the hug.

"It'll be ok, I promise. We'll get out of here. Don't you worry."

Milly lifted her face to look at (Y/n). "You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

The little girl nuzzled back into (Y/n), but this time not crying.

(Y/n) felt horrible. She didn't know if she could keep that promise.

-

More time as passed. It felt like they've been going around in circles, the tunnels all looked the same, dingy and filthy. The cold weather was starting to get to (Y/n); her arms were locked around herself, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, and jaw clenched to stop the rattling of her teeth. She felt like she was dancing along the line of becoming a human Popsicle.

Then she saw what she's been looking for.

An exit.

Yellow light flickered on the concrete walls, beckoning forth, turning a right to were the light was coming from. However, she didn't hear anything. Like the tussle of leaves, or anything that resembled something _not _in the sewer.

But something stired deep in her gut -- like the beginning of a thunderstorm. She could sense the dark clouds brewing overhead, swelling with perception, threatening to burst from the compassity. Like fog in the early morning, it crept up, clenching her throat. She felt something wasn't right. She _knew _something wasn't right.

All she wanted to do was get out of there.

_Jingle! Jingle! Jingle!_

(Y/n) heard the faint melody of bells ringing through the tunnels. That's when she knew for certain that things weren't right. But, they were never all right. Not here. They were basically awaiting for their pending doom.

"Oh no!" Milly cried. "He's found us."

"Uh-" but (Y/n) didn't get to finish before she felt the atmosphere become stiff and heavy. She was suddenly aware of how hard she was breathing. The pounding in her chest became more viscous as the hair on her arms pricked up.

Without further thought, (Y/n) grabbed hold of Milly's arm and dashed to the end of the tunnel towards the only source of hope. They turned right. She could practically smell the fresh air of freedom. Feel the crisp, biting air blowing through her hair. Getting Milly home safe and sound.

But there was none. No fresh air. No way out of the crazed maze. No way of getting away from Pennywise.

Suddenly, the light that they thought was their way out suddenly vanished within a mere second -- like it was never there. They were stuck in the dark once more.

The bells ringed and ringed, closer and closer they drew on them.

Then they suddenly stopped.

(Y/n) knew she should have started running again once she heard the bells, but she couldn't. She was frozen on the spot as she felt a burning sensation in the back of her head. The little girl by her side -- clinging to the fabric of her sleeve -- was the same.

(Y/n) turned around. A firm hand clamped around her delicate throat, constricting her breathing. Milly started screaming.

Pennywise stared down at (Y/n), his red lips tugged down into a frown, nose scrunched in disgust. He tightened his grip around her neck.

(Y/n) shoved Milly off her arm. "R-u-" she coughed, gasping. "Ru-n." She clawed at the gloved hand around her.

Pennywise growled. "Oh, I don't think so." He shoved (Y/n) into the wall harshly.

It felt like all the oxygen left her body as she fell to the mucky ground in a coughing fit.

Milly was screaming bloody murder once again, making the pounding in (Y/n)'s skull ache more. She briskly looked up to see only Pennywise, crouching animalistic, holding both of the girls hand in a steely grip.

"Get off of her," (Y/n) growled. She stumbled up from the ground.

Pennywise cracked his head to the side, red-orange eyes staring square into her own. He licked his set of sharp teeth. Drool dripping from his bottom lip, down his caked white chin.

"Now ya get to see what happens when you don't listen."

In only a split of a second his sharp teeth dug into Milly's shoulder, blood soaked flesh between his lips -- then he clamped down, bones crunching between his strong jaws, and yanked. Milly's blood curdling scream followed as he tore her whole shoulder clean off. Her right arm fell to the ground.

(Y/n) stared in horror with tears threatening to burst. That's all she could do. It was too late.

Milly was dead.

The little girls blood stained his lower face, dripping onto his clown suit. His lips tugged up into a buck tooth smile.

"Don't make promises ya can't keep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How you guys liking it so far?


	14. Days of Pain (1999)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Y/n) is 12 years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXTREMELY SENSITIVE/OFFENSIVE CONTENT MAY NOT BE SUITIBLE FOR SOME READERS. YOU HAVE BEEN ADVISED.

  
(Y/n) knew what chaos was, how it felt to be caught in the tide of it all. How it is to be dragged under the current in its crashing waves. She hated it. Exsspecially when she was the center of it all. She wished she could part herself from reality most of the time. She wished she could leave Derry.

(Y/n) tugged the strap is her backpack back onto her shoulders, gripping them with white knuckles. She tried to avoid eye contact as she passed in the halls. Her jaw tightened visouisly, hard enough where she thought she was going to break her teeth. But she didn't care. She was angry at what she found written in sharpie on her locker door in big, black letters:

**WEIRDO.**

(Y/n) sighed in frustration. She swung the locker door open -- garbage fell out and pilled at her feet; candy wrappers, banana peels, stuff she couldn't even depict. A rotting, half eaten apple sat uptop one of her many school books and left a yellow stain from the fermiting juices of the apple on the closed pages. Torn open ketchup packets littered on the shelves, smeared red on the confines. Her locker smelt of the slushy soup at the bottom of a garbage can.

Then she sees a used tampon on the ground.

Nausea churned her stomach inside out.

A group of children around her age started snickering, the others staring at the mess laid at her feet like she meant to put it there.

"Oh look here!" a twelve year old boy said. "The weirdo keeps garbage in her locker!"

Tony stepped forward out of the group of boy's and girl's, with a dopey look on his smug little face. "You _and _your family are trash. You need to put your bat shit crazy gran' in a mental institution."

Tony Underwood -- a half-cocked, asshole of a child who thinks getting physical is the way to solve problems. (Y/n) hated him more than anybody in the world; ever since first grade he's been on her ass like white on rice, chewing her out every time she slips.

She hates his snarky remarks and his bad manners. She hates his annoying adenoidal voice. She hates his face that reminds her of a scrawny sewer rat. She _loathed _him, every single piece of him.

(Y/n) shuffled her feet away from the garbage and turned to face the boy with a vemomus glare. Her heart pounded in her chest as she clenched her hands in fist at her side.

_Oh how I wish I could sock him right in his ugly ass face, _she thought, seething.

"Yeah, and your mom's a disgusting whore junkie," (Y/n) shot back. "You don't even have a dad."

Tony's face turned bright red, anger flicking at his core like a match to gasoline. "Wat'cha just say, bitch?"

"Did I stutter?" she asked, mockingly. "It's not my fault that my dad arrested your crackhead mom." Everyone turned their attention to Tony.

(Y/n) could see all the gears that makes his peanut brain in his head stop in a fit of smoke, and along with it went his logical reasoning and common sense. But then again, he seemed to lack those qualities to begin with.

"You-" Tony lunged at (Y/n), hands shoving her in the chest. She didn't have enough time to react. The bottom of her worn shoes catches the slimy trash left on the ground. She tilts back, smashing the back of her head on the lockers. She fell the rest of the way, now sitting on a discarded banana peel and crumbled papers.

The much bigger kid loomed over her, still hot with rage.

Then she kicked him in the knee as hard as she could, which wasn't much. But he keeled over, wincing in pain.

"What is going on here!" Mrs. Lagon came storming over, heels clicking against the tiles. One click, two click, three click -- the closer she got, the closer they were to their demises. "And what is all this- why is there garbage everywhere?"

(Y/n) made like a cat in ice water and picked herself off the ground with a look of pure annoyance.

One of the many kids crowding the hallway piped in. "They were fighting!"

It all happened in a blur. (Y/n) didn't know if it was the fact she hit her head pretty hard, or that she's gone through this process more than a couple of times. Her and Tony sat up at the office, seated as far away as possible.

They both got out-of-school suspension, as usual. This was their second time this year, a third time meant being expelled.

And that pissed (Y/n)'s parents off; especially her mom who had picked her up that very day. Not at her, of course. They were pissed off at the school _and _the little "fuckers" (that's what her dad called them, anyway).

Her dad swore like a sailor. That was one habit she inherited from her dad, as well the overuse of sarcasm. That little part of (Y/n) annoyed her mother to no end -- (Y/n) was after all a smart ass. She was always in trouble because of her mouth.

**____________**

The next day (Y/n) had went out to the Derry store to pick up bread and butter to compliment tonight's dinner. Her dad was out on patrol, and her mom was working overtime at the local dinner. The least she could do was pick up groceries from the store. 

Underneath the clear soft blue glow of a sky, the sprouting trees spotted green that rustled in the cool wind that fine Thursday midday. (Y/n) took a long drag at the wind, filling her youthful lungs with fresh air that smelt of freshly cut grass and Earth. It was a peaceful day. 

"Hey loser!" someone called out. 

Or so it was.

(Y/n) knew that voice very well. She gritted her teeth. "Fuck off, Tony."

Another males voice joined in, humming a 'ooo' like she did something horrible and wrong. That's when she stopped in her tracks to town and turned around to face the two boys with a expression of pure hatred on her face.

  
"Leave me the hell alone," (Y/n) barked. "Or I'll shove my foot so far up your ass you'll be begging for your mommy."

The other boy, known as William Franks, chimed in. "Watch your mouth, freak."

William Franks was a little bitch, for short. She remembered quite vividly that one time in kindergarten when she tripped him on purpose for breaking some of her crayons. He balled on the ground like he snapped his leg like a twig -- he didn't even skin a knee. Now he was roughly five times her size with a gut she could hide in. He was still a little bitch, though.

Tony Underwood cracked a conceded smirk; his dark brown eyes swirled with unhiddened madness that made goose pimples prick at her skin. She knew he was up to something.

He came a few more feet closer to her. "You made me get suspended-"

(Y/n) quickly cut in. "Yeah, you did that to yourself. Not me, you dumb fuck. Own up to your own damn actions for once."

She knew when Tony Underwood was angry. And right now he looked down right murderous -- his sun kissed skin was a deep red that reached from the tip of his ears to the base of his neck. His yellowed teeth -- stained from cigarate smoke and Coca Cola -- snared like a rapid mutt that just had his bone taken away. 

  
"Get her!"

The girl barely had time to react to their sudden sprint towards her. But it was too late. They had caught her by surprise. Tony and William had a firm hold on her even as she tried to wiggle and thrash out of their harsh grip. They were bigger, older, and stronger. Much stronger considering it was two against one.

Their dirty fingers dug into her shoulder and arms painfully as they dragged her off to the side of the empty street and into the forest. There were no houses in sight. No cars have passed by since (Y/n) turned down Taylor Side road. A street she's been using for years.

Her heels dug into soft soil. "Get your fucking hands off me!"

Next thing she knew her hands were pulled behind her back, her shoulder blades grinding against one another.

Her face kissed the rough bark of a pine tree. She felt something warm and wet peaking out of her nose, drizzling down to the top of her lip before it made its way into her gasping mouth. Copper and salty. Stingy pain pulsed from her nose and through her entire skull like the fire of hell was summoned on her. Her heart must have leaped all the way to her face, too. She felt the same warm liquid -- blood -- seep into her throat.

A rough hand grasped her ass, squeezing bruises into her delicate skin. That's when true terror struck her.

"Stop-" her face smashes against the tree again. Stars. She started to see stars in her blury vision.

Another calloused hand palmed her developing breast, only the fabric of her shirt was her protection. (Y/n) started to scream.

"Shut her the fuck up!" Tony yelled. William pulled her wrist tighter together and rammed her into the tree again. More blood swelled on her bitten tongue.

(Y/n) felt like crying. She could feel the dam starting to crack, only seconds away from breaking loose. The tears welled up at the corner of her eyes. But she didn't. She didn't want them to have the satisfaction of seeing her even more vulnerable then she already was.

"I'm gonna fuck you blind," Tony growled, shifty hands snaking under her shirt, drink in the touch of her skin before cupping one of her breast.

She welled all the blood and saliva in her mouth and spat right in Tony's stupid face. He grimaced in disgust at he wiped the glop from his cheeks and forehead. Her head cracked to the side from the force of his fist stricking her cheek.

Another hungry hand, this time from behind, slithered down the front of her paint splattered jeans. She was shaking uncontrollably now. She tried to find her voice -- but she had none. Blood stung her throat like blistering sand, her tongue swollen, and it hurt like hell to breath through her nose.

Disgust. She felt her late breakfast churning uncontrollably in her gut as their hands roamed her body. Every touch burned in her skin like a hot iron. She wanted to pluck her skin off. She wanted to get rid of every part of her where they touched and looked. She felt like dying.

Chubby fingers slid down to her soon to be womanhood -- two digits suddenly filled it, stretching her open. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry.

She almost threw up.

Tony tugged at her zipper impatiently.

"Get off me," (Y/n) croaked. "Please, don't."

Tony tugged down her pants, exposing her lower half. He licked his chapped lips, feeling himself through his pants. "Too late, sugar tits."

The boy behind her laughed as he sniffed the top of her hair in one long drag.

(Y/n)s heart suddenly leaped in her throat at the beautiful noise that filled her ears with hope. A car engine.

_"Mr. Sandman bring us a dream._  
_Give him a pair of eyes with a "come-hither" gleam-"_ blasted from the car, filling the boys with panic of discovery.

(Y/n) began to scream and yell. "Help me-" Tony's hand clamped over her mouth. She bite his hand.

She pierced his flesh with her teeth, drawing blood and clamping down to the small bones of his fingers. He let out a blood curdling scream and pulled back like his finger was just chopped clean off. Flesh hung from his index finger like cut ham. _If only I took the whole finger, _she thought.

_"Give him a lonely heart like Pagliacci._  
_And lots of wavy hair like Liberace--"_

"Holly shit!" William said. His grip on her wrist loosened a little. Just a little. But that's all she needed.

(Y/n) swung her skull back against his face and broke free from his grip.

_"Mr Sandman, someone to hold (someone to hold). Would be so peachy before we're too old."_

She started sprinting towards the road, tugging her pants up. "Help me! Someone please!"

She made it to the road, where the car had stopped. An elderly couple looked utterly concerned.

She was safe. For now.

_"Mr Sandman, bring us, please, please, please. Mr Sandman, bring us a dream."_

  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Lights In The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was made to rule the darkness."

(Y/n), in her twenty-two years of age, as been through some fucked up shit. But everything she's been through couldn't hold a candle to this dere situation. She witnessed murder _and _cannibalism in such a short time span of a few minutes. 

  
Was it considered cannibalism -- he wasn't human, obviously. The clown sort of looked the part, abnormal appearance such as his oversized head, but that was all a facade. He was something much, much worse. She just didn't know it yet.

She wished she never went to that damned house. A small, selfish part of her wished she didn't come back to Derry in general. The town held a stiffening power over her -- almost suffocating, filling her lungs with poison gas that resembled her rocky childhood -- almost to the point she felt it slowly killing her, piece by piece.

(Y/n) wished she was the one who died instead.

Milly's cooling corpse laid sprawled on the sewer ground like discarded garbage. The ebodiement of horror frozen on her face. The arm of the little girl was plucked from the ground by the grinning clown. Pennywise nibbled the raw flesh surrounding the bone that connected it the shoulder. He made eye contact with (Y/n) and kept it, intimating her further more with his obnoxious chewing and loud swallowing.

Hot tears stung her eyes, but she didn't dare let them fall. "W-why? Why children?"

"Because they're tasty. Why else, silly?"

"You're a monster. A literal fucking monster."

He discarded the arm, throwing it off somewhere. "So I've been told."

(Y/n) was having a mental breakdown. She raked her fingers through her tangled locks in a petty attempt to calm herself down.

"Don't disobey me again. A word to the wise, from your friend Pennywise." He did a little shake, the jingle of bells bounced off the concrete walls. "Or else I'll kill ya."

She thought hard on what to say next, but her mind was swimming with images of what happened just earlier. Millys piercing screams echoed within the confines of her pulsing mind, the blood. All that _blood. _The terrifying thud as her arm dangled from a slither of skin before falling to the ground, severed by the clowns teeth.

This little game of his was something she didn't quite understand. He wanted her dead, he said it himself. But he hasn't killed her yet -- a perfect plaything before he decides she needed to kick the bucket.

_"Look, girl, watch your back. Something is impar about you, something wrong. Your soul... I don't sense it, if you ever had one. Omen. Something is after you. That's all I can say."_

(Y/n) still had no fucking clue what that old hag was going on about still -- of course she has a soul, right? Why was this _thing _after her? What was wrong with her.

_Always me, _she thought bitterly, _I'm always going to have tremendously bad luck, fuck me sideways. _

(Y/n) harshly nibbled the inside of cheek til she tasted the all too familiar taste of pungent metal welling on the tip of her tongue. She finally mumbled out the words that wavered from her sore throat in post-trauma. "W-what do you want from me?"

"What do I want-" he pondered, appearing to think deeply. Then he snapped out of it with a look of pure authoseism. "That, my deary, is my business and mine only. Livestock. That's what you are. Lamb to the slaughter, just like the rest of you worthless humans."

The shock and sadness she felt just seconds ago vanished in thin air. Every violated phrase was like gasoline to her boiling anger, she began to clench and jaw rooted.

But she didn't engage.

She didn't want nothing besides to take the business end of a shovel and bash his oversized cranium in. She wished she could make him hurt like he's done to her -- purposefully frightening her, manipulation, killing _and _eating someone right in front of her face. She wanted him dead. Dead as a stump. She knew though; she knew she wasn't met to win this battle.

She knew she'd end up just like Milly. Dead and nothing but a feast for the beast crouching with a predators unwavering glance.

(Y/n) hadn't answered in awhile, locked in a staring contest with the devil himself. The corner of his perfectly red lips, dripping in fresh crimson and drool, curled up with a teasing smile.

"What? Cats got your tongue?" Pennywise asked.

She tried to think of a snappy comeback, but she couldn't. Her mind was an endless void as she stared back into Millys lifeless chestnut eyes. _Why me, _she thought for the millionth time.

Pennywise's scowled, lifting himself to full height, standing roughly over her shocked form. His eyes were still the familiar red-yellow; the deeper they dug in her soul, prying at her well hidden secrets and desires, the more she photed them to memory. Every detail -- his naturally fiery unruly hair, his white caked on face, every strange stain in his clown suit, the blood that covered the lower half of his face, the shape of his mouth that tugged down into a frown with his two buck teeth showing. These were one of the moments she'll never forget. A person in their life time usually has one day committed to memory, from time to sound to taste to emotions. She had many of those, however.

But she knew, as hard as she might try, this horrific event will never leave her mind until the day she dies. Which might be today, actually.

"Your unresponsive nature is quite annoying," the clown said in a pitched voice. "I'll give you a reason not to talk -- how much do you like your tongue? Oh, you wouldn't want me to pluck that little thing out of you, would ya? All those mean words that seem to come out of you like a second nature. " He cocked his head to the side, one foot placed in front of the other, ready to come after her. He flicked his long tongue over his stained canines. "Gone."

The fire inside her began to morph into a wildfire, anger licking the growing flames that heated her skin in the harsh cold weather that numbed her fingers. Out of pure impulsive instincts, she stepped forward instead of running like she should have. She balled up her trembling fist, knuckles white from being pulled taunt.

(Y/n) hurled her fist with all the power she could muster -- she punched him square in the cheek. She heard the faint crackle as her fist connected with his face. If it was her hand breaking, or his face, she didn't know.

Then she felt the throbbing pain flare across her knuckles. She winced, cradling her hand against her torso.

"Holy shit! What the hell are you made of- stone?"

Pennywise wore an unreadable expression, eyes wide open in pure shock at the woman's clumsy and repulsive action. He didn't _really _feel that assault, only a slight sting, maybe. The only time he was truly hurt by a human was back when -- by a bunch of snot nosed brats. And he didn't think she'd dare attempt something as challenging as to downright attack him, but he stood incorrect. He expected her to run away like most -- to flee was most human's instinctive nature, depending upon the situation.

If a child was in danger it's almost guaranteed the mother would stop at nothing til their child was within the safety of their guarded arms -- that would be the fight instinct. If a person who was afraid of spiders were to see one of the small Araneae crawling on a wall they would either avoid it, or instantly add distance, for away from that wall as humanly possible -- fleeing, sometimes a cowardly choice.

The clown's evil eyes shifted to the quivering woman in front of him. Amusement buzzed his entire being, vibrating through his throat, morphing into a short burst of laughter. He could feel every muscle in her body tense up more as if he was one with her. He could smell the cold sweat that formed on her back, on her forehead. The sound of her thundering heart was music to his ears. Even though he couldn't pacifically smell her fear, he had other indications. Then he made up his mind.

He lunged at her.

(Y/n) tried to quickly dodge, but she was too late. She was knocked down to the ground from the side. The landing knocked all oxygen from her lungs. Sharp pain shot up her arm and through her shoulder -- she broke her fall on her busted hand. Then she felt the ominous presence looming over her. She began to scream.

In a blink of an eye, the clowns face twisted like putty. His eyes rolled like a slot machine, so fast she thought they would fly out of his sockets. They roughly stopped when a familiar shade of (e/c) eyes glared down at her, the crinkles between their eyebrows striking dread into her. His skin changed in color and texture, his hair in density and length. Then what she saw made her freeze completely, like she was dumped in freezing water.

Her mother. But it wasn't just her -- she was dead. Decay took over her once healthy features, her skin a tint like that of the dead. She held a look in her eyes that shown the blissfulness of death, creamy white like a blind person. There was one little detail that twisted her guts in agony: a hole on the right side of her temple. Covered in moldy flesh and dried, crusty blood. A gun shot wound. Her cause of death.

"You forgot about me, (Y/n). How could you? How could you forget about your poor mom? I took care of you, I loved you like you were the sun. My only light in this cruel world. And you abandoned me, like I was nothing." She sobbed, blood leaked from her eyes and dripped on (Y/n)'s cheeks. "How c-could you?"

(Y/n)'s voice clawed up from the confines of her chest. She replied in a harsh tone, disgust laced her words. "Your not my mom."

Her mom frowned, more blood tears brimming from her realistically melochany dead eyes. "Of course I am."

(Y/n) growled. "No you're not!" She brought her legs up and kicked her 'mom' in the gut with all the power she could muster. She fell off.

(Y/n) shot up from the ground like a torpedo, minding her hand. Her mom was still on the ground, but that quickly changed. The thing that was pretending to be her mother mystically jumped on the balls of their feet.

Her moms head began to spin around and around, the sound of crackling shot a frightful shiver up her spine.

Pennywise stood in front of her again, unhurt and unmoved. He showcased his razor teeth, a toothy smile, a glint of hunger in his beckoning eyes as he took a step closer to the woman.

"Care to play with the clown?" he asked. "Another game, perhaps? Cat and mouse! Yes, that one will do! I'll be the cat-" he gestured to himself, taking another threatening step towards her as she took a step back, then points to her with a mischievous look. "-and you'll be the mouse."

She just shook her head, stepping back again. She didn't know what's gotten into her, why she just didn't run for it.

That's when she fully grasped what she was truly dealing with. _I can't defeat this damn thing, _she thought, _it's just too strong. _

She could hear his voice, but she didn't stay to listen to his words. She sharply turned around and ran. She tried to at least.

(Y/n)'s face clashed harshly into a hard surface. She yelped as she fell hard on her ass. One glance up and she already knew what she ran into.

Two _glowing _eyes, angry and starving, glared down at her. They tore her open, clawing at her insides bits by bits, nipping at the emotional tug of her post-trauma. Thats all she could see in the ink flooded tunnels. They got closer and closer, lowing down until they were just looming over her legs. A slight sharpness raked up her calves -- which felt like claws. Then long fingers wrapped around both her ankles. What happened next she couldn't comprehend until it was too late.

"Gotcha."

(Y/n) heard the piercing tearing of flesh. A squishy, fleshy sound. The bottom of her pants clung suffocatingly to her legs, wet and dripping. That's when she felt the burning, searing pain that stabbed at every nerve in her left calve. Another scream cut through her throat.

Pennywise has sunk his teeth deep within the flesh of the inside of her leg.

At that moment she smelt like bliss, tasty and delectable. As soon as her sweet blood met his taste buds he couldn't get enough. He sucked her strickeling life force like a kid would to a milkshake.

He ignored her petty attemps to shake him off. She reluctantly kicked him in the face with her other foot, clawed and tried to pride his head from her leg. She couldn't. He was glued on her -- a hungry dog on a bone -- and wasn't going to bulge til he was satisfied.

Pennywise's conscious buzzed in a calm manner. His stomach, as well as his whole being, felt fuzzy and warm as he feasted off her. He's never experienced this strange sensation before, and he liked it. He liked it a little to much.

At the time, however, that same cozy warm started to blister and burn and twist his stomach into knots that made him unlatch form her like a tick. The nausea clawed at his throat, and before he even knew it, bile in the form of a dark mass that -- instead of landing in the sewer water, floated up in tiny specks.

(Y/n) watched as he keeled over, vomiting the strange substance that she had no clue what was. She took that as her chance in his vulnerable state and kicked him in the side of the head.

Pennywise felt it _that_ time.

The clown was actually frightened. Fear, he percieved that many years ago, but now it was different. Contrasting. It wasnt just terrer. He was sick, vomiting. He's never done that before. And that's what scared him: this human woman that possessed poisonous blood that tasted the absolute best he's ever had, made him wench in absolute pain.

She struck him again. "You piece of-"

Pennywise wretched again but took a grip of (Y/n)s hoodie. She dug her dirty nails into his retched hand that held her in place. The clown let out a animalistic growl, claws tearing into the fibers.

There was one thing that took over his mind: how to kill this _thing. _The only other possible way of killing her. He peeled back his mouth, splitting his cheeks open to show more razor teeth. (Y/n) instantly halted at the sight.

Light. Beautiful, bright orange lights. They circled eachother, floating up from the belly of the beast before dancing at the back of his throat. They beckoned her; singing a melody that flowed like a gentle river and sounded as naturally sweet as honey. It was mesmerizing -- the lights, how they were even possible.

_How is that even real_, she thought. Then she finally realized the huge detail she's been blind to. Anything is possible when it came to Pennywise, a creature unknown to her.

Warnings of danger kissed her skin; sinister energy suffocated the air even more so then it already was.

(Y/n) didn't know what the monster was trying to do, but as soon as he realized it wasn't working he had the gape of pure fear etched on his panicking features. His ragged breathing shook his cowering frame as he throw himself far away from the woman in a frenzy.

He was scared of her.

(Y/n) winced in agony as she stumbled closer to the fallen clown. He crawled back, whimpering.

"What are you?" (Y/n) asked.

Her words fell on deaf ears.

She took another step closer, fuming. "What the fuck are you?"

This time the clown met her gaze, blue and bright. "The Eater of Worlds."

(Y/n) winced again, every muscle in her face twisted into knots. She was finally well aware how bone chilling it became; considering her little to none insulated attire and wet with blood state.

When she opened her eyes again, however, her breath hitched.

Pennywise was gone.   
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya enjoyed!
> 
> Sorry for any grammar mistakes, choppy sentences, or anything of the sort.
> 
> I haven't slept in almost three days. Fucking yeepy diddly doo.


	16. One Thing After Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’ve given up on many things through my life;  
One life itself,  
On people, on love,  
But never on myself."

Every sore muscle ached, reminding (Y/n) of the events that just occurred only moments ago. Even as she crawled up from the dank tunnels like a wounded animal escaping a trap, she could still feel his fiery, ravenous gaze on her form. When she stumbled up her drive way, limps numb from the pentatrating cold and blood soaked state, the boys voice that lured her down there like a gullible kid still echoed in her stuttering mind like a broken track. Milly's chestnut eyes, lifeless and cold much like the place where she died, was forever burned into her memory like an imperishable painting, the ghoulish onslaught brough upon the child that ended with her last quivering breath. The warm invitation of her parents house, which was now hers, wasn't as welcoming nor cozy as she closed the front door with little enthusiasm. She was empty. No more than a husk. At first, she thought, perhaps she was dead. However, as if on cue, she felt her legs turn to jelly. Then she collapsed on the ground -- like a doll whose strings suddenly got cut loose. That's when she was reminded that she in fact alive, stuck in the hell hole that was her life.

(Y/n) groaned, lifting her good hand up to wipe the gunk on her face. She was covered up to toe in dirt, and stuff she didn't even know. Her bones were rattling, muscles spasming to regain lost heat. She knew she probably had hypothermia. Her breathing was shallow. Her heart the same, slow beating, even though hours ago it was thundering like a horse. And she was tired. Oh so very tired. But maybe, it was blood loss she was suffering from. Or both. She _knew _she had to quickly get warmed up, and get this wound dressed if she hoped to not pass out. Or worse. 

She jumped out of her skin when she heard the house phone ring. 

She slithered up from the wall she had her back flat against and ungracefully limped over to the blaring phone that made her skull increase in pulses. 

**16 missed calls**, it said, intense red letters sticking in her vision like pest. She went to reach for the phone, then she noticed how terriblely off her dominate hand looked, bruised and battered. But at least it wasn't as gruesome as her gnawed on leg which left bloody footprints all over with beautiful stained wooden flooring, and the cream hall mat which was now ruined in her hobble. 

She twitched her hands and picked up the phone. 

"Hello, is this the (L/n) residents?"

(Y/n) swallowed the vicious lump in her throat. She was having a hard time getting the words out as she spoke. 

"Ah, yes it is," she slured, still shivering. "This is (Y/n) (L/n) you're speaking to."

"We've been trying to reach you for hours now-" (Y/n) heard the soft clicking as the woman on the line paused, then it stopped. "This is the hospital calling, Louis (L/n) was in an accident. She's in a weak condition but she's recovering really well. We just need you to come up here to finish some paperwork for her, and visiting hours are open for relatives anytime--"

Her heart plumidided down to the churning pit of her stomach -- like a boulder from a high cliff, sinking into the crashing foaming current that was her dread. She could feel the panic rising in her throat. 

"What do you mean? She was in an accident- what happened to her?"

"She had a heartattack, but she's recovering quickly. There's no need to worry, miss (L/n)."

She suddenly forgot about her clattering teeth, the searing pain that laped up every nerve in her leg, the dead kid, the monstrous clown. It was like her brain was plucked from the safe confines of her skull and was hurled out the window. 

She stumbled on her words. "What- what do you mean- when? Where? How?" She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the red numbers that mocked her in her worried state. "When? How long as she been in there?"

"She checked in at one thirty-two. So, around seven hours now."

Her entire body froze at the mention. 

**Seven hours. **

(Y/n) was gone for more than seven hours. 

"Oh my god," she mumbled. "I'll be there shortly." She quickly dropped the phone back on its charger, ending the call instantly. 

She stifled a whimper, biting the back of her good hand as hot tears unconsciously beaded at the corners of her eyes once more. The dam in her head that held back her tears started to crack and spilt down the middle, a few leaks spewed out, unfixable. That's when she felt it -- scolding beads of tears leaking down her grimy face like a rushing waterfall. She cried, she let all that bottled up pain and trauma burst out, she could feel herself breaking down. Every turning wheel in her, every spinning gear suddenly halted, broken and smoking from the sorrow and anger that fueled every cell within her. 

This was what Pennywise wanted, for her to become broken and battered, an empty carcass. To degrade her to nothing but her weakest form, to terrorize her into her own little hell that was her mind. If he couldn't have her fear, he might as well make her suffer. And suffer she did. 

She wondered where he was now. Was he relishing the fact of what state she was in? Or was he still hurling on the ground like he had been. He seemed so... Weak, terrified much like she was. She didn't know if she caused his sudden illness, why he made those lights come out, and why he had the pure look of shock etched on his face at the fact. Was those lights suppose to affect her -- what _where _those lights, was the real question. There was too many questioned she didn't know the answer to, and that pissed her off. 

(Y/n) quickly shook off the tears, wiping agressivily at her wet cheeks like someone spat on her face. She bite her tongue, hard, to stop her whimpering. When she tasted fresh blood on her tongue, that's when the little flip in her head turned back on. The busted gears started turning again, all her loose wires connected, when the smoke that clouded her reasoning cleared, so did her mind. She was back to her old self -- granted, a more broken version of herself, physically but not mentally. Not entirely, anyways. A small part of her, a very _sinister _part of her knew that the little girl wasn't going to make it. And knowing she promised Milly she'd live, to give her false _hope. _That somehow made her feel even more horrible, but at the same time -- it didn't. At least she _had _hope.

Not to mention the gruesome scene of her being eaten alive, an audience for the sadistic clown as he feasted. (Y/n) relived that moment over and over. The screams. The crunching and snapping of bones, the soft squishing of flesh and blood. The loud thud as her arm splashed into the water. The clowns crimson covered lips and chin, the way it drizzled down his face, splashing and staining his suit an even solem shade. But she knew the time of remembrance was certainly not now. 

She'd never forget, anyways. 

She quickly washed the sewer off her, despite her sudden fear of getting in the shower, a fear she thought she dropped weeks ago. She wasn't going to smell like shit though, that's for certain. She also had to clean her wound, which was now going to be infected beyond reasoning -- she was in disgusting water after all and say it probably didn't get into the deep bite marks would just be plan stupid. 

The bite was worse than what (Y/n) thought. The mud and grit had become enmeshed with raw pink flesh, caked into the punctured holes that ran deep to the bone. That, and the freezing air, helped her slow the blood loss just a tiny bit. Cleaning them out, rubbing against the over sensitive skin almost caused her to scream. But instead she only grimaced -- even when she poured rubbing alcohol into the gashes, which burned like bloody hell. She slathered antibiotic ointment on the wound, wrapping it in the only medical supplies she had. She found some paper towels and medical tape. She made quick work at dressing the wound. 

(Y/n) swiftly got dress, throwing on god knows what. She had to make sure her grandma was alright. She was her only family left, someone she was close to and could always rely on. Grandma was always there for her. Like that one time she got into an accident regarding her bike and a sign that rudly moved in front of her path, or when she was assaulted and jumped. Her Grandma was always there first, somewhat. Her parents were busy bees, working almost all hours of daylight. They tried to be there for her, comfort the best they could afterwards. But she was a grandmas girl, through and through. 

When (Y/n) was little, no more than four, her grandma was having a surgery done -- coronary artery bypass surgery. She ended up staying with her in the hospital, sleeping there for two nights in a row before her parents had to snag her away because of missing Pre-k. She had a problem with the blood flow being pumped into her heart. There were the warning signs, such as the increasing chest pains she would exhibit. But her grandma was a tough woman, never trying, or purposely, showing her pain. That was one quality (Y/n) gained from her. 

"Chin up, honey." She said, fair, soft beauty even through the wise wrinkles, and strikingly sweet expression. "Don't let the world have the satisfaction of seeing you at your weakest. It feeds off that, little by little. Cruel, that's what it is. Beautiful and full of wonder, but cruel. You're a strong girl. Keep it that way."

Those exact words lingered within her even through all the years. That's what fueled her to be strong. To be strong for her, for her parents. For herself. 

Suppose that didn't really apply to the murder she witnessed earlier. Would she be consider crazy if she were to tell the truth? 

_Most defiantly, _she thought, _more of a reason for everyone to hate me. Call me names behind my back, spit on me like I'm nothing. Walk all over me like I'm nothing but the annoying dirt that gets tracked into houses and shit. Shit. That's what I feel like, complete shit. _

She hastily hoped into her paint chipped car and made her way to the hostipal. Driving with a broken finger proved to be more difficult then what she anticipated. 

__

"(Y/n), dear, I'm fine." Louis smiled reanssuringly, but it didn't meet the mucky eyes that had a storm brewing within their depths. "There's no need to worry about me."

(Y/n) shook her head. "No, Gran, you're not. You just had a heartattack. How the hell is that fine?"

"Watch your tongue," she said, but it didn't hold in spline, especially when her son had a mouth ten times over. "I've had a heartttack before."

"I can't just sit here and do nothing. I know you're not alright. Your age, your heart problems..." (Y/n) sighed. "You worry me. I lost mom and dad. I can't loose you either."

Grandma Louis casted her attention up at the old box TV mounted to the wall. She didn't pay attention to what was on, which happened to be some cheesy game show. Suddenly, finally coming back to her senses, snapped her feeble attention back on her granddaughter. 

"I love you, (Y/n). I hope you know that."

The younger woman held a scowl, not one of malice, but one of frustration. But upon looking at her grandmother it melted off like ice in a hot summers evening. 

"I love you too," she replied. 

There was a short pause of blissful silence, the only noise came from the soft hum from the TV and the game show host overpowering voice. That was, however, until her grandma asked her to grab the remote. She made the mistake of grabbing it with her bad hand out of instinct.

"What's wrong with your hand? It's all bruised-- did you break it?"

_Oh shit, _she though. 

"Yeah. I was going to get it checked out later."

"Is that why it took you so long to make it up here?" she prided, worry lacing her scratchy tone. "What happened?"

_Ah, the money question. I punched a clown in the face? Why don't I just kill the woman with my bare hands._

"I fell," she lied through her teeth like it was second nature. "I was moving some of the heavier boxes inside and caught my foot on the steps." She presented her bruised and busted hand like it was a trophy. "Fell down and got this little puppy."

"You better go get that looked at right now, Missy." 

"I will. Later."

"Now," Grandma responded, lips pulled taunt and eyebrows squinted, a stern look etched on her face. "I'll be just fine here."

"But--"

"No buts. The sooner you get it done, the quicker it'll be done and over with."

(Y/n) huffed. "Fine."

The younger woman said her goodbye, trying with all the power in her to make steady steps, in a normal pace. Her leg throbbed and the presence of her grandma didn't make it any better. In a matter of fact, it made it worst. She had to act like she was alright. Like she didn't have a fucking _bite _wound in her leg. The idea, the consequences, the result in how the feeble older woman would react made her blood turn to ice. 

Before (Y/n)'s fingers graced the cold doorknob, her grandmother's repeated her words from earlier. 

"Make sure you get back soon. I love you."

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. Love you too."

They both exchanged smiles -- this time it met their eyes -- and (Y/n) went her separate way. 


	17. Haunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry that this chapter if half assed, that's where I pulled it from. I wrote most of it while I was sick and I forgot about it. I don't feel like editing. But when do I ever? This is just to full warn you of upcoming mistakes and literal shit that just defiled your screen. Hope you enjoy.)

  
**Milly Thomson Found Dead In Ironwork Ruins. Lead Homicide Investigator, Paul Brent, Has Linked The Murder To The Killer, Gage** **McGregor.**

_"Authorities have found the body of Milly Thomson, six, in the ruins of the Ironwork in Derry, Maine (December 9), WGME CBS NEWS reports. _

_"Local authorities in Derry told WGME that they found Milly Thomson's body, along with many other missing children cases, around the area of the old Ironwork in Derry. They have linked the crimescene to a middle aged man, Gage McGregor, who had been found guilty for mutilating and murdering the children. His DNA has been found under the nails of some of the children-"_

The TV flashed to a video of the crime scene, but not actually showing the full brutality that was inflicted on the victims. There were yellow police tape, officers standing by so no-one would snoop, illuminated blue and red danced along the walls of the ruins. And body bags. There were small body bags in the video, if you squinted your eyes hard enough, you could see them on the right top screen corner, laid on the damp grass awaiting for their proper burial. However, it wasn't the body bags that were small, it was the stiff lumps inside; the bags were normal sized, for an adult, because they didn't have child sized ones on hand. The video suddenly switched to live news, a crazed man bounded by handcuffs, and donut-gut officers that held him firmly by the shoulders as the walked into the police station. That was Gage McGregor, the man _responsible _for the murders. He bared the look in his eyes that only held pure shock, but he stayed silent. His mouth was glued together like he swallowed superglue -- he seemed almost guilty in a since. But (Y/n) knew he wasn't the cause of the gruesome, animalistic torn bodies of children. Not for Milly, at least.

It didn't take very long before someone found the body of Milly Thomson. A couple of teens found the bodies when they went there for a quickie, and stumbled across the decayed masses of flesh.

It's been four days since the event. Since Milly. Since she dealt with Pennywise. Her grandma's been in the hospital, too. And in that time apart she was alone. Left to her own hatred and heated thoughts that made her want to go back down there and kill the clown for good. She's been working, despite the pain. She had to scrub the carpet down; which, she ended up letting hydrogen peroxide sit on the blood stains for an hour before going at it again. When she finally had gotten back home in the clearest mind she had that day, she finally remembered her cat which was outside freezing to death. Life seemed more hectic and choatic -- nipping at her ankles at every chance.

She felt haunted. Every night since then she's had nightmares. Every cold night she'd wake up screaming bloody murder, throat sore and voice coarse the next day. She'd cry too -- enough were her eye were pink and puffy, cheeks raw and sensitive to the touch. She always hated those. The nightmares that actually struck her down to her core, plucking at the strings. One by one they'd snap until there was no more. She had none to spare.

No matter which path she took it always came back to the pile of junk at the clowns lair. Dead children floated, lifeless and in chunks, in the musky air like balloons. She seen Milly too.

But what really got to her was her parents. They weren't dead, oh no. The were as alive as she was. The only difference, however, was that they were completely off by character. The caring parents she once knew was no more, replaced by monsters wearing their faces like it was Halloween.

"You've finally found us," her mom said, holding something furry in her shaking grasp. "Just in time for dinner too."

That fur ball was actually a dead rat. Eyes creamy white and popped out of their sockets, stomach bloated from decomposition, congealed blood dripping from its mouth. It's head shape was unnatural -- crushed. It's limps were stiff as a board. The tail of the rodent was gruesomely pulled from the body like that of a stem being plucked off a fruit. Next thing she knew her dad popped the decaying morsel into his mouth like he would do to chocolate. (Y/n) almost threw up.

"Thats some good fucking food," he said. "Good job, hun."

But the dreams shifted. They always did.

Dead. Paralyzed. Foreboding.

Her grandmother's death, killed by her own hands. (Y/n) remembered the scene picture perfect.

She could still feel the sticky, hot liquid underneath her fingernails. It congealed and cracked, staining the creases in her hands. Her fingernails, however, were longer. They were basically claws, like that of a raven, inky and monstrous. With a mind of their own they tore open the old woman's chest cavity like she was a can of chips. Ribs popped and cracked out of place, gurgling screams followed like a sweet melody. A feeble beating heart. The last thing she could remember was the tough muscle in her mouth, hot liguid pooling down her face and into her cleavage. Her grandmother's eyes were glued open in shock, lifeless but wet. They stared at her in betral. That's when she woke up.

(Y/n) couldn't even escape the terrors when she was awake. Her mind would slip off -- into a horrible daydream -- and see nothing but the images that flooded her counsous.

The little girl. Teeth clamped on her shoulder. Blood. Sweet. Then she saw herself. Staring right back at her in dread and hatred. Herself said the exact same words she said in that moment, and the mouth she held, spat words she hadn't. She felt her long limps twist, the sharp teeth gazing her lip as she closed her mouth, a pleasurable tremble raked her body. She stood up tall, towering over her slight shaking self.

Then it struck her: she was looking though the eyes of the devil himself. She could feel what he felt. See what he saw. _Taste_ what he tasted.

She was loosing her sanity. One. Two. Three days she hasn't slept. Crazy, she was. She felt it, at least. Her grandmother saw her sorry state the day she came back. The eerie, tired eyes of her granddaughter, her stiff and alert posture. It didn't take her long to find the source of her slight limp -- the bite wound, padded and barely visible through her pants.

"What's that you got there?" Louis asked.

(Y/n) unglued her eyes from the book she was reading for a split second to look at the older woman before resuming back. "Dreamcatcher," she simply said.

"No, not that. What's that on your leg?"

(Y/n) stiffened. "Nothing."

Louis's voiced hardened. "(Y/n)."

She thought for a moment, until she spotted the single word 'bike' on the page, standing out like a light against the sea of meshing greys and black. That one word alone sparked an idea.

"It's nothing, gran." She could feel her wound pulse from the upcoming lie, most defiantly in warning. She continued anyways. "I skinned my leg pretty bad when I fell from my bike."

Louis gave her a sceptical glance, lips pursed. She didn't follow the bread crumbs of her story; she'd rather sniff out the primary source. She knew when her granddaughter lied, ever since she was barely potty trained. She _knew. _

Louis crossed her arms. "Since when did you start riding bikes again?"

(Y/n)'s fingers smoothed over the crisp paper edges. She was still on the same page she's been reading over and over again.

"Ever since I've found my old one in storage."

She hummed. "I know you, girl. What _actually_ happened."

(Y/n) growled, narrowing her (e/c) eyes in vexation. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Let me check it--" She harshly interrupted her.

"No."

Louis's content face fell, sweet to sour. "What are you hiding -- what did you do?"

She discarded her book on the coffee table. "Gran--"

"No. No, you're going to answer me," she said in an demanding tone, shifting forward slightly. Right when (Y/n) thought she was about to release the wraith of hell on her, Louis's seasoned voice softened as she continued. "You've been acting off. What's wrong?"

(Y/n) shook her head, straightening her back. "You don't want to know."

The older woman gave her a look. The same look that made her snitch on herself when she got into the cookies. The same look when she admitted she meant to set the backyard on fire. The one that made her admit her depression, her troubles. But it wont work this time, not entirely. She knew there was only one why out of this.

She sighed, fingers curling under her pants leg before rolling it up to expose the medical taped bandage. Slowly, she undid the bandage. The second she felt air hit her wound, stinging, she heard a gasp.

Louis covered her mouth. "That- that. You've--"

"A bite wound," (Y/n) finished. "I was attacked by a damn mutt a few days back. I didn't want to worry you after... you know."

Louis lighty touched the sensitive flesh around the bite marks. She exhaled, lungs burning from how long she held in her breath from pressure. Her brows scrunched, eyes squinting at the gashes.

"These are too big for a dog."

"It was a huge dog."

"Why haven't you gotten stitches yet. These look horrible."

"I don't need them."

Louis sighed. "You are just as hard headed as your daddy, I tell you what."

She chuckled, forgetting the stinging in her calf. "Spitting image, aren't I?"

But then there was silence. Her grandmother gleamed off into the far distance. Then back at her wound, winkled fingers still barely touching her skin.

Louis pulled back her hand like she touched a smoldering flame. "Something feels wrong."

"What do you mean." But her grandmother didn't answer, she stared out the window, silently with a distant look in her murky eyes.

"You're worrying me," (Y/n) said. "It was a dog, not whatever the hell you think is-- nevermind. I'm fine."

"I believe you its just..." she pointed out the window to nothing in particular; her finger directed at across the street. "Ever since I've gotten back, this house feels more hostile, like its out to get me, then the inviting home I once knew. That feeling of something watching us. This house. You. Me. Much like back when..."

(Y/n) gulped. "Christmas carolers?"

"Something worse. Much, much worse."


	18. Monstrosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait guys. I've been busy.
> 
> Also, I've changed the story title. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

  
He was dying.

Or at least, he _felt _as such. A foreign, unbearable sting, acid like pain harshly nipped at his (practically) none existent nerves. His stomach - in his current form, his favorite, the clown - resembled something he never experienced before, a human illness: nausea.

However, he wasn't human. He was something _better. _How could he experience this kind of barbaric pain? A much higher life form as himself shouldn't be exposed to this kind of experience, he was above that. This. He shouldn't.

But he did, and how that made him more furious. And something more.

He was scared. Fear, the word of his desires, now ingulfed him like a mournful lover, forgotten. He had a brush of it before, not so long ago, in the form of children known as the 'losers'. But now he was faced with something much forceful. Something not even he could place. _Her. _Her soul, old and worn, dripping with poison that corrupted her own body. A human whom was capable of making something as grand as himself crumble and shatter.

He was frightened. Raw and uncontainable. He wanted nothing but to slink back into the safety of his lair, fall back into a short slumber until he was hungry again. Until he could finally seek revenge on those brats that got the best of him. Alas, there was a problem.

He couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, days in and out, he couldn't. He was unable to fall asleep. The feeling was unrelenting and rigid, cutting into his shifting nerves and growing, smothering anxiety. It was like a rope, bounding him awake and _here. _Every few hours it would mentally tug, a calling that sung the melody of a million children, wailing in despair. Forward, it would lead. Follow, they would say.

_"--something to show you--"_

_"--over here, follow--"_

However, he didn't move an inch. He ignored, drowning out his curiosity with resentment. He still had the faint flavor of her on his tongue, one of the still causes of his continuous nausea.

Soon the hushed whispers turned into sour screams and he had enough. He followed the calling like a lap dog, coursity faintly shining in his blue eyes.

Then he finally figured the cause of the restless voices.

A pruny elder woman, standing erect outside a small shop sandwiched in a small space right inbetween two other stores. Annoyance rippled off her form, grey eyebrows narrowed in exasperation. Hard eyes shifted across the frozen landscape until they halted, wrinkles folding even more in the corner of her eyes in concentration. Then she froze. Not from the biting chill of Derrys earlier December morning. Her eyes, a swirl of surprise and dread underneath them, landed on his form. They locked eyes.

The woman's hands flew up to her bulky necklace, shaking fingers delicately petting the smooth wood of a charm, a symbol of some sorts. Protection, is what it stood for. But in this case, what she stared at across the street now bluntly standing in the middle of the road, was something she never seen before. She felt the whisp of evil, almost demonic like power, gnawing on her soul. However, it was different, beyond natural. Something not of this world. She knew that the charm around her neck wouldn't save her, nor any of the ones in her store. Not even the spell that was carved into the wood of her shop. She was fully exposed, stuck in this horrible little town.

She felt It's presence, knew that that thing resided here. This place smothered her it in its evil embrace.

That woman -- and that thing -- shared a connection that resembled like that of a deal with the devil. Blood thirsty power, a mark on the soul. Or used to be soul, now ripped from the warm glow of her body, a hollow form. A tiny note of herself, like a song, still played, reminding her that that woman was still human unlike the thing she was staring at.

The _thing _suddenly appeared in front of the elder woman, too close for comfort.

Her flight instinct kicked in, causing her to take a few much need steps away from the grinning clown.

"Mane redire, diabole! _(stay back, devil!),_" she said in Latin, which the _thing_ understood perfectly fine.

The clown barely squinted his eyes, amusement crinkled in the corner of his eyes, brillaint red lips curled higher in a mocking display. "O, vere moriebantur homines et vos resiliunt me! Falsus est etiam credere in Deum, et satanas. Quam stulta. _(Oh, you humans really do crack me up! Still believing in a false God and Satan. How silly.)_"

Dispite the fear that crawled in her chest she still stood her ground, face hard like a rock. "Et dixit egredere! _(I said begone!)._"

"Demanda forti ad aliquem ut et minus vetus quam vos _(Mighty demand for someone as little and old as you are),_" It hummed, scratching just above the surface. "Infirma, fragilia, caduca. Vos iustus a laverunt croon est qui quaerit invenire usum pro ea in conspectu flebilis se mori. Sed usus non est tibi. Non hic, nec usquam. _(Weak, fragile, brittle. You're just a washed up croon that is trying to find use for her pathetic self before dying. But there is no use for you. Not here, not anywhere.)_"

The elder woman didn't respond, but she didn't shatter either. The only weak one was him, or _It. _Now that the clown was close enough -- a quack in Its power, a barely noticeable break -- It's been weakened. And she already knew _who_ did it. Maybe perhaps her shops spell would be able to repel It, but she was uncertain. It was worth a shot.

She took a calculated step back. "Vos qui estis infirmi hic diaboli. Tu vnquam superata sit hominum _(You are the weak one here, devil. You've been bested by a human)._"

The clown's eyes flashed, molten fire burning his irises orange, but just as quick as it appeared, it was back to the same brilliant blue like it never happened. A string of giggles followed, forced almost. "Mutantur in subiecto, ut videam. Erras _(Changing the subject, I see. You are wrong.)_"

The woman took another step back, closer to door of her shop. "Et hoc vobis _(She did this to you.)_"

His smile faltered, teeth subconsciously growing sharp in response to his souring mood. "Quod suus 'ubi tu erras _(That's where you're wrong.)_"

_Another step._

"Quod homo femina est positum super te: ego enim sensus-- _(That human woman has a hold over you, I can sense it--)_ "

The sudden mention of the younger woman sent a fire deep within him. Just the slightest thought of her made his form crack into a bundle of raw rage. In response, pure anger washed over his features, his eyes now that familiar shape of orange and yellow, his teeth putruded from the spliting folds of his lips, yellow claws ripped the fabric of his gloves-- a true symbolic form of evil, not even basking in his true monstrosity. His rage was trained on the elder woman, now merely a couple feet from the door of her shop.

_"There she is~" _the voices sung to him, fueling the fire higher. _"There she is."_

"Et vidi in posterum, diaboli _(I've seen the future, devil.)_" She cracked a small smile, a hidden snare and full of venom.

_That nickname again_, Pennywise thought venomously, _stupid human. _

Her hand grasped the handle hidden behind her back. "Et circumdedi te vinculis sunt. Et non morieris _(She will tie you down. You will die.)_ "

That sent him over the edge and he lunged at her fragile form, teeth and claws more than ready to tear into her saggy flesh. Blood lust wanting to be satisfied. She was right there in front of him--

His nails dung into wood, his face smacked against the door that slammed in his face. A burning sensation tickled up the nerves of his fingers which was touching the door -- which grew more painful by the second. He pulled away with a hiss, confused.

He couldn't get in. _Why couldn't he? What is happening to him? _

"I will kill all of you," he seethed one last time before slinking back into the dark, oblivious of what was to come. 


	19. Moth To A Flame

  
"You remember this place?" Louis asked, smiling at the familiar smell of freshly baked bread and hardy brewed coffee. "How long has it been? Five, six years since? I remember when you used to love this place. Ever since you were four."

"Of course. How could I forget?"

Memories of her and her family, sitting in the booth in the far corner, munching on morning pastries. A ghost of a flavor, her favorite dish, danced on her tongue. She could still recall her parents favorite. How her father preferred plain black coffee, while her mother opted for heavy cream and a pinch of sugar. She remembered their beaming smiles, warm and loving, happy. All their problems melted away once they stepped foot into the bakery.

(Y/n) didn't know what to feel. Sad, perhaps. She was completely numb, void of deep emotion.

"Chin up, girl." Louis looped her arm around (Y/n) in a comforting effort, leading her to the counter stocked with fresh baked goods. "Pick whatever you like, treats on me."

After picking and paying for the treats, the two women made their way to their original seating.

Louis couldn't help casting her eyes around the bakery, soft yellow walls and white booths, a few people mingling about. She admired the decorated Christmass tree, vibrant colors flashing in rhythm, a brilliant star sat atop the tree in all its glory. **Jingle Bells **lightly played in the background on an antique jukebox.   
The air was warm and toasty, a pleasant contrast to the biting snow that still fell in spite outside; from what she could tell, vaguely able to see past the frosty window their booth was stationed beside, that their car was nearly coated in a blanket of crisp white. Their town took pleasure in dressing for the joyous holiday, like nothing horrible ever happened in this town. Louis knew better. She _knew _that this town was a gate way to absolute evil, but she stayed. Trapped in this hell hole, never leaving, stuck here since she was born. Like it was written in stone, her destiny to rot here.

It didn't help either, knowing her family as been reduced.

The sound of the door bell got her attention, which she was grateful for -- and in came a young man, handsome and dapper. Suddenly, a question popped into that old cranium of hers as she peered over at her granddaughter. She hide a knowing smirk behind interlocked fingers, and vaguely motioned her head in the direction of the man.

"What do you think of him? Handsome, right?"

(Y/n) nearly chocked on her food. "Gran."

"Well, isn't he?" The younger woman's attention drifted over to the man, whom was oblivious to their conversation, casually looking over the displays. He was good looking, she admitted.

She quickly reverted her gaze and focused back on her food. "Um, yeah. So?"

"Go ask him out."

This time she did choke, causing a loud wheeze to leave her lips, startled eyes now trained on her, but only briefly.

"W-what," (Y/n) stuttered. "Of course I won't."

"You're a young, beautiful woman-" (Y/n) interrupted her with a strained laugh. She was _not _having this conversation.

"I'm going to stop you right there. Not happening."

"How else will you marry, not getting out there. You don't want to be lonely."

That made her suddenly think: does she _want _to marry? Did she even care for relationships? The easy answer was no. No, she did not. She wasn't hands down for intimacy. She never did like the idea of being attached to someone, only for them to be snatched away. A possibility of getting hurt in the end was something she desperately wanted to avoid.

Does she even have a heart, she wondered, always wondered. Is she even capable of such feelings, she didn't know. She was oblivious, unexplored territory. Deep down, inside the beating of her own heart, sat something forbidden. _Sinister. _Maybe even -- though, she tried to snuff it out, tried to get rid of such disgusting tendencies -- _evil. _She was deep down inside a form of her own monster. All _humans_ were.

The answer to her grandmother's question easily left her lips, not even needing to mull over it.

(Y/n) frowned, taking a sip of her beverage. "I have no intentions of 'getting out there', I don't need a man. I'm perfectly fine."

Louis pursed her lips. "I'm certainly not getting younger here, as you can tell. My last dying wish is to meet my great grandchildren before I drop."

(Y/n)s eyebrows shot up, ignoring the dying part of what she said. "Hold up, when did I say I would be having kids?"

"No matter how many times you say you don't want children, you're going to end up having at least one."

"Oh just you watch me," she muttered underneath her breath. "Not happening."

Her mind suddenly drifted off -- the little girl, dead children, small decaying bodies. _Why must she be reminded constantly -- mentaly haunted by the ghost of the Derry. _That clown has caused too much pain. Too much suffering. She would have had another mental breakdown, right here in this bakery; but the smiling face of her grandmother, and the prying eyes of other people, kept her grounded. She lost her appetite, however.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" Louis asked, reaching over the table and clasped (Y/n) hands. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She briefly shut her eyes, images of dead children plagued behind her eyelids. Dark, then mulling snares, terrified eyes, sobbing and begging. Her mind was in a never ending twist -- twisting and spiraling out of control, a dreadful abyss took over. Ravenous yellow eyes, glowing like a beaken in the dark, like a moth to a flame. And she was _burning. _

When she reopened her eyes, however, all she saw was the worried expression on Louis's face.

(Y/n) cracked a smile, one that didn't reach the corner of her hollow eyes. "Just imagining myself as a mother."

"You would be a great mom, (Y/n). Don't think otherwise."

The rest of the evening was calm as they finished up and went Christmas shopping. They were still unable to shake the obvious feeling of something missing. Or whether, _somebody. _Two people, the missing puzzle pieces of their family. Forever lost.

_____

The putrid smoke of stale cigeretes and wheat beer filled her lungs with distant discomfort. Loud conversations melted together, competing against the rock music that dominated the atmosphere. A hint of sickness could also be distinguished in the crowded room. Variety of people ranged from young adults to the old, all here for almost the same thing: to get wasted. Some to get lucky, others for a great time.

Her, however, was to forget.

_Maybe this was a mistake, _she thought. _Maybe I should-_

The door behind her snapped at her back as it closed, sealing her fate.

Calculated steps brought her to the well kept bar, glass counter smudge free and tidy. That eased her thoughts as she sat down in one of the cushioned bar stools -- away from people, to the far end. She's never been here, in this bar, but she's glad to admit it passed her expectations.

She remembered clearly the last time she visited a bar, one in New Hampshire when she was still in college, and it was anything but clean. Overly shabby, the booze wasn't worth a dime so to speak. The colorful characters that enhabited the ratty place was people you wished not to meet in your life time. She left as soon as she arrived.

It only took a few moments for the bartender to notice her seldomly hunched form, and soon she held a chilled alcoholic beverage in her tiny grasps. The burn that went down her sore throat was most appreciated, the tingle in her gut was greatly accepted. Soon she finished her first cup without a hitch. When she received her second was when her mind took over.

_Why must I be like this, why must it be me? Why, why, why. _

As in response, the healing bite wound pulsed in rhythm to the thunderous drum that was her own heart. When she sighed, she smelt the pungent tang of alcohol. She attempted to block out the voices that seemed like they were screaming in her ear -- just so she could listen to the music that played.

_Stay in the present,_ she thought. _Calm, stay calm._

Something manifested behind her, as if on que, like a response to her own torturing. It sent unpleasant ripples. _Warning. Warning. _Her body stiffened as it drew closer, smothering her mind in dread and she suddenly became hyper aware of her senses. Slowly she turned her head to the side, challenging the need to see what was causing her discomfort.

That sinister feeling was in the shape of a well-groomed man, merely a few feet beside her stiffen form. He held her gaze, lushous pink lips curled at the ends into a _friendly _grin, his bottom lip shaped strangely but endearing. The bright blue eyes she was met with seemed to peer into her very soul, picking around the crevices of her mind in search of anything of importance. Information. His light auburn hair was slicked back, not daring to hide the gorgeous face this man inherited. What looked to be a friendly man was only something darker underneath, she just _knew _it. Even though there was no malice in his expression nor body language, not yet, anyways. Some people were great actors, after all.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, an unwavering tone, motioning to the seat beside her. This made her narrow up at him. There were plenty of other seats open, so why choose to sit beside her?

(Y/n)s eyes lingered a bit longer then they should have, only looking for any other signs of hospitality other then his atmosphere. When she found none she turned her attention back to her drink, but never fully letting the man out of her vision.

"I don't know, is it?" she answered snippy, trying to drop hints that she did, in fact, not want him to sit there. However, the man brushed off her sarcasm like sand on clothes and plopped down on the stool next to her anyways. As he was waiting for the bartender to finish up on the otherside, he couldn't help but turn his unfamable attention to the woman beside him, that damn smile never parting from his lips.

"Seems like I'm not the only one here who's drinking to forget."

That caught (Y/n) off guard. "W-what?" She nearly cursed at herself for stuttering.

"The eyes are the window to the soul," he said, cocking his head to the side to face her better. "And yours speak volumes."

Her face scrunched up and she took another swig from her drink. He wasn't wrong, and thats what irritated her that her emotions were practically bear on her sleeve for all the world to see. But she denied it. "You don't know what you're talking about."

The man, finally getting the hint, only hummed in response. He finally turned away, ordered his drink, but still remand rooted to his seat.

_Why will he not leave already._

After some moments of silence he finally piped up again, much to her displeasure. "Oh, how rude of me. I should introduce myself," he began, fully turning to the woman with a huge smile adoring his handsome features. "I'm Robert Bob Gray, but you can call me Bob. Or Robert. Which ever you prefer." He winked at her playfully.

(Y/n) tried to process the information, but considering her mind was buzzing from the liquor in her veins, she was a _bit _slow. Especially considering she didn't think he would strike up converstain again. She should have known better.

"(Y/n)," she simply said, only briefly acknowledging his presence as she _tried _to enjoy her drink.

"(Y/n)." The way he said her name sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "What a lovely name. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you--" he paused only for a second his toothy smiling stretching further. "--(Y/n)."

She _almost _forgot the danger that oozed off him, but still, she still showed him some form of humanity, a slither of kindness. He hadn't done anything to make her no like him, yet, anyways.

A small grin took over the frown that plagued her lips. "Likewise, Bob."

"So," he starts, the pads of his long fingers tapping against the cold beer bottle in his hand, condensation making them slick. "You're a local, I assume? Pardon me for asking. I'm just curious."

She stayed quiet for a moment. Should she answer, she wondered. But it was only light conversation, so she obliged.

"I was--" she corrected herself fast, "--am."

He hummed once more, taking a swig from his beer. "Great town you got here. Small but cozy, it's _enough."_

_This town was not, by all means, great, _she thought venomously to herself, not at him.

Dispite the negativty the topic made her feel, she still compled. "Yes," she simply said, not wanting to say that she hated this town. That this town was the exact opposite of what was his impression.

Now that she fully laid her eyes on the man, she had to admit he was by far the most stunning man she ever had the pleasure of merely looking at. He was much taller then herself, still dwarving her height even though he was sitting. There was a dark charm about him. Something that, though she would completely denie such feelings, drew her in like a _moth to a flame. _She quickly sqoshed those thoughts, grimacing at herself. He was a stranger after all.

She merely liked the way his face was seemingly beautiful.

_Stop checking him out, _she scolded herself.

There was also something undinablely familiar about him. Has she met him before? She knew what she was going to ask him next.

"What about you?" She snapped her eyes away from his intense ones. "Are you from around you?"

"No, I'm just here for the holidays."

It was (Y/n)s turn to hum. Before she knew it she was done with her drink. Bob noticed, and called over the bartender.

"Another drink for the lovely lady, treats on me." Before she could protest the bartender refilled her cup and left to serve other customers.

She didn't know what to say, but she wasn't complaining. "Um, thanks. You didn't have to."

"Oh, but I wanted too." He cracked another smirk her way, still sipping at his now room-temperature beer. "For the company."

Unwanted and unexpected, this morning's conversation with her grandmother suddenly came to mind. Perhaps, deep down, she was lonely. Maybe she was ready for a relationship.

She quickly kicked the idea out of her mind. She blamed it on the alcohol.

Time flew by without them even realizing it. They droned on and on about different topics, ranging from the discussion of Derry, to which pet was the best, favorite food and such. She soon learned he was visiting his parents in town for Christmas and he wasn't scheduled to leave until a little after New Years. He made her forget about everything that's happened to her recently, and she was grateful, only if it was for a brief moment. For the moment she forgot his wicked persona, for a moment she actually felt comfortable with him. Just talking. He could be lying, of course, but she still conversed with him. She never let her gaurd down, though.

Before they knew it, the bar was turning in for the night. They both stood out in the cold. Bob wasn't dressed heavily, only in a light black jacket, but he didn't show that the cold bothered him.

"It was nice talking to you," (Y/n) started, a ping of disappointment flaring in her chest, which she _hated _and didn't want to feel by all means. She just met the man after all.

"The pleasure is mine," Bob's attention snapped back to the small form in front of him. "Perhaps we should do this again? Are you free Saturday?"

(Y/n) mouth was a gap, surprised and taken back by his straight forwardness.

The alcohol wasn't the only thing that warmed her viens, but the mixture of liquor and an attractive man made her mind go blank. "Sure," she answered without thinking.

He perked up, clearly pleased. "Here is as good as any place. Nine?"

"Sure," she said once again without _thinking. _

"Great! See you Saturday then."

"Yeah."

They soon parted ways, except the man who still stood in his spot, watching as the woman left.

Subconsciously, his fingers clenched and unclenched in anticipation, his smile dropping immediately into a snare.

He couldn't _wait_ til Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shitty chapter. It's a bit rushed.
> 
> You guys already know what's up with this Bob guy, I tried to keep the resemblance to the minimum. Because it just makes sense. It wouldn't if he looked completely like Bill Skarsgård, had to keep some features of Pennywise/Bob Gray.
> 
> You would think (Y/n) would have noticed at first, but Pennywise doing something like this would never cross your (maybe?) mind, nor did she ever see him in this form.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.


	20. Amber Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Rip to all the errors in this chapter. I'm just trying to quickly spit them out to make up for the month I didn't write. Enjoy.)
> 
> Does anyone still read this?

  
Two days. That's how long she had to wait till Saturday. She was dreading it, going back to that bar. That man. Perhaps she made up the whole incident. Maybe, he wasn't real. Just a drunken stupor, only looking for a way to end the suffering her mental health was in. 

She couldn't forget his face either -- like it was burned in her mind. The longer she thought about him, his features, the more it became unsettling. Not by the single fact she kept thinking about a man she only met once, but the way his smile curled up. _That _unsettled her. Now that she was in a clear state of mind, she know realized why he seemed familiar. That smile, those eyes.

Pennywise suddenly came to mind.

Could it really be him, though? Bob showed her a kindness even that clown couldn't possibly pretend to possess. Thinking that, however, was complete suicide. She knew better then to doubt the clown -- he was something she didn't know of, unknown and dangerous. He could easily pretend to be her parents, anyone, really. So why not Robert Bob Gray? A man that looked _strangely _like him. But why make himself look similar to his clown version only for her to figure it out just as quick. Perhaps she was reading too much into it. Only time could tell.

She was going to find out soon enough, anyways.

So there she was, sitting in the same spot, the same bar stool, finger nails clicking nervously against the glass. She stared boredly at the tiny ripples in her water caused by her tapping. One, two, three. It felt like eternity, her just sitting there. The flat screen in the far corner of the room held little interest to her, only droning on about the weather. Her eyes caught the clock nearest to her.

**8:56 P.M**, it read.

She must have been to distracted with the clock because she didn't hear the closening footsteps nor the creak of barstool as someone sat down beside her. What brough her back, however, was the looming presence of somebody to the side of her. And when she finally turned her attention to him, expecting to be met with blue eyes -- but instead she was faced with Ronny.

"Hello, (Y/n). Drinking alone, I see." He said, "How have you been."

_The audacity of this man. _

She tried to hide the irritated look on her face, but she couldn't help it. "Ronny, I'm fine."

He shrugged off the penny of hostility she exhibited. "Glad to hear it." He popped a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket, and offered her one, which she declined with a 'no thanks' before lighting a smoke himself. "I'm real sorry."

(Y/n) gave him a questioning glance, encouraging him to continue. She didn't know if the apology was meant for her or if he was talking to his cigarette.

He sighed. "All those years I was an asshole, not just to you, but to everyone." He turned his attention to her, now fully peering into her eyes. She could see the sincerity and guilt written on his face. "You got the worst of it. Not just from me, but from everyone. And it was wrong. _Terribly_ wrong to do that."

Her stone cold stare melted a little -- but only just a bit. This was the second time he's said sorry, but apologizies weren't going to mend deep scars. Psychological _and_ physical scars, at that.

"Ah, more company I see." said a familiar voice, which involuntaryly made goosebumps prick her skin at the sound.

There stood Bob Gray, stationed behind the both of them, towering over their settled forms. Or at least hers. His head was cocked to the side, an unreadable expression on his face as his eyes locked onto the man beside her.

_An obsical in his way, he would simply put. _

The blue of his eyes seemed to darken with every passing second the longer the man still stayed settled in _his _seat. But he quickly snapped out of it, not wanting to make things more complicated then it needed to be. He focused all his attention on the woman.

Ronny piped up. "Oh, hey man. Names Ronny."

Bobs right eye unnoticably twitched as he pushed to act _kind. _"I'm Bob."

The snort that followed shortly after didn't help his growing temper.

"Oh, I'm sorry man." Ronny snuffed his amusement, clearly picking up how the other man did not appreciate being laughed at. "It's not you. I just remembered something funny, is all."

Before Bob could say anything (Y/n) intervened, clearing her throat and tossed Ronny a look. "Thanks Ronny, but I think you should leave."

He narrowed his eyes at her for a brief moment, but shrugged and stood up, flashing her a quick grin before finally leaving her sacred space. Then came Bob, her sacred space once again being invaded as he took his seat beside her.

Now her full attention was on him, and something baffled her. He was real, obviously. She was glad she wasn't crazy after all.

But there was something different, something she couldn't place her finger on -- then she finally noticed the dark brown up top his head.

She could have sworn he had lighter hair then that. Or at least, she thought. She could have sworn...

No perhaps not. She's just seeing things.

"Sorry about Ronny," she muttered. _Why was she apologizing? _

"No need to be, dear." He lightly chuckled. "I'm just glad you didn't stand me up."

_Oh, the many possibilities and ways of killing you, _he thought.

"Same here," she replied, taking a sip of her water.

He didn't miss the calculating flash in her eyes, questioning. He knew for sure she's noticed the hair change.

But one thing he knew for sure was that she questioning her sanity. And he also _knew _how fun it would be to play on that card, as well.

He was the reason why she couldn't remember the little details, after all.

The corners of his lips twitched, a sinister smile hidden underneath the kind glow of his charm. "Do I have something on my face?"

That seemed to tug her out of her thoughts. Embarrement was written on her face. Not from the fact she was sizing him up, trying to dissect his person metaphorically. She was flustered by his question, a statement that he knew she was staring.

"Oh, uh, no." She decided to tell the truth, partially. "I'm just trying to figure you out."

This time, he snorted, he just couldn't hide his amusement. "Oh, but dear, I'm an open book. There's not much to it."

_That nickname._

(Y/n) narrowed her eyes up at him, attempting to cut through the sinister persona he presented, and that too sweet attitude of his. She stuck him underneath her prying gaze, like bacteria underneath a microscope. She was determined to see if this man was, in fact, the dreadful clown. And if he was it was clear he wouldn't be slipping up his disguise anytime soon.

Why wouldn't she leave, she wondered. If she expected this man to actually be a monster underneath. A disgusting, vile creature that only knew pain and suffering. And murder. Then why did she still stay rooted to her seat.

Perhaps, to prove to herself she wasn't crazy after all.

She defiantly wont be letting her accusation fly out the window anytime soon. She kept her steely gaze locked on him, like a target, but tried not to with malice.

She just nodded her head in response, and took a sip of her drink to quickly drop the awkwardness of the conversation.

"Nothing is that simple," she muttered. "Everyone has a fine print."

"That _is _correct." He scooded a bowl of peanuts closer to him, jabbing two finger into the bowl, pulling one out. He cracked it open and popped it into his mouth. The texture was weird, and the taste was something he did not like. And it was salty, like tears. Yet he swollowed the mush in his mouth -- he needed to seem normal, human. He offered her some with a gesture of his hand, when she declined however, he continued what he was saying. "But some are more simple then others. Take that man over there for instance--" he popped his index finger in the direction of a man siting alone, already shit faced, "--is an alcoholic. Judging by the quantity of beer bottles and shot glasses, not by the fact we're in a bar. And if you look at his hands, his knuckles are bandaged up -- an aggressive drunk at that."

(Y/n) sat there for a second, soaking in the new information. The man did look like a drunk, a detail she missed at first glance.

_Why couldn't she focus?_

In that short time Bob ordered them drinks: two shots of vodka.

"I suppose so."

The conversation drifted off to more casual topics. Time passed, approximately three shots of vodka and a whisky later, and the stress of the day seemed to melt off of (Y/n)s shoulders like honey. Her cheeks were flushed, glowing, her mind was like the tide in a picture on the wall: unmoving, yet it still _seemed _to be. She wasn't drunk, not completely. She was only buzzed. And as she peered up at the man through thick lashes, there was one thing that pissed her off.

The liquor didn't seem to affect him. His face wasn't beat red, like hers. His eyes never wavered, sharp and full of concentration. It was like he hadn't been drinking at all. Like not one drop of liquor touched his tongue.

"Damn," her voice sounded breathless. "How do you do it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

Her small hands shot out, gesturing to him with a flourish. "It's like you haven't been drinking."

"Isn't it obvious? I'm a heavyweight, dear. It'll take more than that to make me even a _little_ drunk."

_I can't get drunk, _is what he wanted to say.

The woman broke out into a fit of giggles, a soft melody he's never heard until now. Her fragile neck was exposed, flesh glistening with a bit of sweat from the heat of the ligour that pulsed in her system. He wanted to shove his face there, sink his teeth in to taste her delisous blood, only a little, and then ripe her throat out.

_The forribidden fruit -- is what she was._

"And here I thought you'd be a lightwieght," she teased, playfully.

"You wound me."

Everything was fine, nothing could dampen her mood.

**"** **Breaking News Report--"**

For once she was actually enjoying herself.

**"-- An escaped Convict by the name--"**

She almost felt free.

**"--of Tony Underwood--"**

Then everything shattered like fine glass around her. And when she finally took notice of the TV, she couldn't help but shudder as a picture of older Tony appeared on the screen. All the old memories came flooding back, a secured dam with a deadly crack split in the middle, threatening to burst. Bob imeddiatly took notice of her sudden change in demeanor.

Did he do something wrong, he thought. His plan wouldn't work if she didn't trust him, which he came to terms already that would take time he didn't want to invest in. He just wanted to kill her, and if he had to wear another face to draw her in he would. This _thing _needed to die.

However, he couldn't stop his extreme curiosity of the woman in front of him. She was definitely human, boringly so.

He didn't care for humans much. He despised them. Hated how pathetic these tiny creatures could be.

And after many years stuck on Earth, he'd picked up on all there tricks and motives. He could read their emotions as easy as it would be for someone to breath, instinctively. He did so without even thinking to. When it came to (Y/n), though, he had to put effort into it. Even then he couldn't get a good grip on her mind. He couldn't tell what caused her to become scared, only knew that she was _terrified. _What was the cause, he wondered. Did she figure it all out?

But as his eyes drifted over her line of sight, following her gaze, he finally knew the cause. A man on TV. He wondered what the man did to instil disgust in her heart. It was all too blurry for him to make out.

He bit back his own form of disgust and reached out, steadily. An index finger went undernesth her chin, pulling her attention from the news to him.

What he was met with was the eyes of a mad woman. Her pupils were so small he would have thought she didn't possess any if he didn't know better. The woman looked absolutely frenzied. Like a cornered animal.

(Y/n)s skin was hot were he touched her, and it only barely distrated her from her nearing panic attack. She needed something more to get her mind off the horrible memories that raked her stupored mind.

Her eyes flicked down to the man's lips, then back into his cold eyes. Then back again.

All rationality of hers flew out of the fucking building as she cumbered to her impulsive desire to _forget. _To feel something other then suffering.

She grabbed hold of his wrist that held her chin, leaning up to his towering form. Her ass was nearly off the seat as their noses brushed against one another, a warm breath fanned over her face as her lips hovered over his. When he didn't move from her sudden intrusion, nor heard any sudden protest -- her soft lips pressed firmly against his.

He didn't know what he was supposed to feel as the intense warmth of flesh was pressed on his own lips. A sensation foreign to him. Her lips moved against his frozen ones, her fingers curling on to his shoulder for support.

Pennywise was short circuiting. Nothing in his many years of life prepared him for something as bizzair as this. While her eyes was screwed shut, his were open. The one hand that was still held in her grasp by the wrist was clenched tightly. The one balled on his thigh flexed open, before harshly digging his nails -- which instinctively grew into claws -- into his leg with such restraint that it tore through the material of denim and penetrated his skin.

A primal hunger glazed over his mind, a hunger to devour this woman latched onto him. She tasted so sweet, beckoning.

Then she pulled away, disappointemt etched on her features, away from him. The warmth of her lips tingled over his like she was still there, kissing him. The ghost of her touch, her fingers, molded on his skin.

Her face was even more flustered then before as she fumbled over her apology. "Oh, I'm so--" but she was suddenly interrupted by a strong gust of wind that smacked her face, then a sharp jab of a nose against her burning cheeks. His mouthed swallowed her words, sloppily working his tender lips against her own.

_Hungry. Wanting. Starving. _

This time his hand settled upon her shoulder, pressing the pads of his fingers harshly into the thick fabric of her shirt, feeling the delicate flesh underneath. It hurt a bit, but she didn't care. It actually felt good. Right. This kiss felt _right. _

(Y/n) turned her head, aligning their mouths into a much deeper kiss. She felt the soft cotton of his shirt underneath her fingers as her hands trailed up his lean chest, drinking in the warmth of his body. They danced along his neck, feeling the steady pulse underneath. Traced his jaw before looping them behind his head, and brung him down closer to her, pressing their bodies suffocatingly closer. She wanted _more. _

She jumped -- a dull pain flaring across her bottom lip as he took it between his teeth, nipping, causing blood to well up before he ran his hot tongue over the sensitive wound. The steady rumble of his chest, the low moan that leaked from his swollen, parted lips as they barely trailed over her cheek sent a white hot flurry in her chest, creeping down to her gut in one swift motion. His other massive hand cradled the back of her neck. The second his blistering, wet tongue touched her neck, licking up where her pulse was, she knew she didn't want to stop. The heat in her gut shot down lower and lower, humming visouisly in her core.

Then he bite down on her neck. Hard.

When her eyes shot open in surprise, peering down at him, his eyes were already trained on her.

Her heart suddenly stopped at the sight.

They were _yellow. _

She shoved him off. Discarded. Like his very presence burned her, like he was a disease.

_Oh, but he was much worse_.

(Y/n) was sober now but she felt like she could puke. The food and alcohol she had earlier that day threatened to release. She was sick with herself.

All those little details she missed, every little thing that showed the true colors of his true identity came rushing back like a smack to the face. A sick, twisted game that ended when she finally figured it all out, only to be rewarded with how easy it would have been to notice at first if it wasn't for him having control on her perception. Thats the one other thing he held above her. Toying with her mind.

"You..." she seethed, venom dripping from her tone. She didn't care the looks she received once her voice began to rise. "You! You damn fucking--"

He flicked his tongue to the corner of his lips, cleaning the blood that dripped there. He decided to play with her. "Me?"

He could see the detaration in her eyes, her entire world caving in on herself. The tears that burned behind her eyelids. The sickness that threatened to escape her throat. She didn't say anything further. She stood up interuptly and stormed out, the door slammed behind her.

She smelt of _death. _


	21. Breath

She was crumbling down, brick by brick. Molecule by molecule. Everything she knew, once knew, was all a lie. What she thought was horrible turned out to be much worse. A little sliver of normality was actually far from such a thing. 

  
(Y/n) couldn't stop the tremors that raked her frail body. She was shaking like a leaf in a storm, barely holding on by just a thin stem. She wasn't completely there when the front door slammed shut just a little too harshly behind her. Nor was she there when her grandmother came to check on what the fuss was about, and once she saw the crimson decorating (Y/n) skin she nearly flipped out and had another heart attack. Her arms reached out to give her granddaughter a reassuring hug -- to make herself feel less worried about (Y/n)s obvious lack of response to her presence.

But as soon as her arms circled around the younger woman's shoulders, she snapped. Like a wounded animal surrounded by hunters. She tugged out of the older woman's grip and snared, a look of distant _hatred _in her eyes. Louis didn't know if that face was meant for her or not, but she quickly recoiled.

"(Y/n), what's gotten into you dear." But all that followed was the distant noise of the television.

_Dear. Dear. Dear. _She could still hear him, that word falling from his lips like a curse.

She just stood there -- staring at the wall, fingers twitching. She was beginning to scare Louis.

Louis saw the blood on her bottom lip, two noticeable scabs forming. At closer inspection to her neck she grew speechless. Bite wounds. The puncture marks were hidden underneath congealed blood. A new form of worry formed in the pit of her gut. But before she could even form the words in the back of her throat (Y/n) was gone within a scurry. Down the hallway and into her bedroom.

It took everything in Louis to hold herself back and try _not_ to comfort (Y/n) again, but it was clear that she needed her space. And whatever happened to cause her outburst would soon be known.

The first thing (Y/n) did when she gone in her room was fumble around in the bottom compartment of her desk.

_Where is it? Where the fuck is it-_

Her fingers clasped a crinkled box, a small spark of joy. That joy, however, vanished as soon as it came. Gone, morphed back into the hatred that engulfed her, pain that belittled her.

She took something from out the packet and placed it between her sensitive lips, a wave of a flame and it was lit. Smoke ascended from the end. She took a long drag, filling with needed nicotine, and then exhaled.

_Cigarette smoke left her lips, drifting up to the ceiling before hitting the surface and breaking. _

She didn't smoke. She _used _to occasionally when she was younger, but as long given up. She always kept this old pack, though, just in case. And boy, isn't she glad to _not_ have thrown it away.

Her fingers lightly lifted up to her neck, only to have the tacky, sticky residue of dried blood thinly coating them. The area was slightly tender. It didn't hurt. It didn't really hurt when he bite her.

But then she _touched _one of the punctures caused by his teeth. Then it stung.

She hissed through gritted teeth.

Before she knew it she was in the bathroom, smoke trailing behind her without a care of Louis finding out. When she peered into the mirror is she when she finally _lost it__ completely._

She was a mess. An absolute fucking mess.

She kicked the door closed, funneling her anger into the poor things around her. All she wanted was to cut herself from here, from reality. No more suffering, no more death. No more pain. No more lose. No more. No more. No more.

She plugged the tub, anger leaving as soon as boiling water spuded from the facet. Steam soon filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror, stuffing her lungs. She stripped down to the bone, peeling the gauge and tape that covered her calve with little emotional. Her fear that once laid bear on her skin vanished much like the smoke from her cigarette did when it mixed with the steam from the bath.

Cigarette still in tow -- half way burnt to collected ash -- she lowered herself into the blistering water. She didn't hiss as the hot water turned her skin red immedialty, as it over stimulated the nerves in her body. All she did was pinch her eyes shut. She tried not to look at the water, tried to not glance at herself. She took another drag, letting the smoke drift from her nose.

Then she seeped down further into the burning rage that coiled around her. Embraced it, she would say.

When she did open up her eyes, then, her hair fanned out above the water that reached at her chin. It slowly turned a faint pink around her. The dried blood from her neck washing off into the water. The facet still continued filling the tub despite it almost reaching the top. Any sane, functioning person would shut it off.

She did not.

_Am I overreacting, _she wondered, _what if it was just the slip of the mind?_

Instead it filled and filled, brimming over the crystal white edge, before rushing down the sides of the tub and soaking the rug and floor.

She slowly sunk further into the water until her head was completely dunked.

No, she finalized, she wasn't overreacting. What she saw was, in fact, _real. _It was _him -- _wearing another face, a disguise. He was hell bent on causing her more pain. A creature specifically crafted to torment. _It_ was an incarnation of evil. And there was no escaping it. She will never taste freedom, a peace of mind that there wasn't something _watching _her, waiting.

The cigarette in her hand dropped into the puddle that grew, snuffing out the small flame -- her hands grasped the slippery sides to keep her underneath the water. Her lungs began to burn but she didn't mind. She wanted to forget, but images of _It_ appeared like a broken record in her mind.

Amber eyes burned behind her eye lids -- the taste of his lips stung at the back of her throat like bile, faint iron and alcohol, but now something vaguely _rotten. _

_She felt disgusted, violated. _

Her feet shot out of the water, placed on the slippery tile wall and keeping her underneath. Pain dully blossomed on the top of skull as she roughly craned herself against the wall of the tub.

Mind beginning to dull, lungs aching for oxygen.

Did she like the kiss? _No, no she fucking did not. It repulsed her, now._

Well, that's what she kept telling herself.

That's what she would say, what she desperately wanted to believe. But the vile part of her still enjoyed it even though she knew who the man was. That it was -- god will never forgive her -- Pennywise whom kissed her. A fucking monster. A fucking _demon_.

A new wave of nausea stirred up -- somewhat from the thought, but by something internally different -- and what followed was fatigue of her limps. It took her more energy to keep herself under, and she was quickly draining from her efforts.

Suddenly, the beating of her heart was obvious. The pulse that was once fast was slowing down to a beat that could easily lore her to sleep.

The ghost of his touch -- faint bruise on her shoulder -- the bite on her neck tingled from the hot water. The one on her lips stung. The wound on her leg, scabbed, felt sensitive. Her body felt battered, worn.

All that pain started to fade, however.

Her grandmother -- what would be her reaction when she finds her granddaughter dead in the over spilling tub? She would be left alone once again. Was this the way she want to go out -- give that _thing _the satisfaction that she let him get to her.

** _No. _ **

Finally, she snapped back to reality.

(Y/n)s eyes snapped open. As soon as her face broke the surface of the water she gasped for air -- like it was her first breath of life.

The floor to the bathroom was over flowing, seeping through the crack in the door at the bottom into the hallway. The cigarette floated, bumping into the toilet.

She could hear Louis out in the hallway.


	22. Loose Lips

_Tick. _

_Tick. _

_Tick. _

The clock on the wall -- bright, illuminatous red numbers, a shallow anchor that barely kept her grounded -- read **1:07 A.M. **

The young womans eyes were red from strain and exhaustion. Her shoulder slumped -- like she beared the world's burdens up top them, like all the world's monsters were trapped within her body of a cage. Dispite the obvious fatigue that rattled her, she moved with jitter. _Anxious _jitter. Twitchy fingers moved quickly and effiently, never resting. Chapped lips -- two scabs still present -- teeth bitting down on her bottom lip in concentration. She restrained herself from licking her lips because of the scabs that were still too sensitive to the warmth of her tongue.

Bleach could be smelt through out the entire house. The fumes were strong enough to burn the eyebrows off of a person, but (Y/n) didn't care. It burned her nostrils in a way that was welcoming. The way it filled her lungs, stuffing them full, closed off her air way slightly as she freely breathed them in. She didn't care.

_She didn't care. _

Sweat coated her forehead and she wiped it away with the back of her hand, stepping back from the shelf she was wiping clean. She's been overworking her body. She couldn't rest without thinking about what happened, she couldn't sleep with _him _haunting her mind. So there she was, cleaning the two story house from top to bottom at one in the morning.

She hasn't slept in nearly three days.

Everytime her eyes drooped, begging for the sweet embrace of slumber, eyes of amber would stare down at her. _Amusement evident in its bright gleam, a faint echo of laughter filling the empty silence. _It twisted like a vine that was rooted in her gut, growing, tangling her limps to the thought of just making it _stop. _

Twitchy fingers stratched subconsciously at her neck, which began to take form as an unhealthy habit.

When she sat down the clothe, hands reaching for the broom, something grabbed her attention. In response her shoulders stiffened and the broom clattered to the ground.

The shatter of glass.

An old vase that was her mother's fell from her parents shared office desk. The once beautiful floral glass work was now in bits and pieces on the wooden flooring. A bing of sadness sprouted in her, then it was replaced with confusion.

How did it fall, she wondered. Her eyes darted to the spot were the vase once was, but what she saw made her gasp.

A Jack-in-the-box sat in its place -- antique and worn, the delicate paint work was chipping and cracked in places -- one that they did not own. But then again, they never had one.

She wanted to bolt out of the room, but she didn't. She knew what was wrong, she knew the tricks. She knew what had put it there, and as well broke the vase in the process.

She just stood there -- the steady rythem of her heart counting out the seconds. One beat. Two beat. Three beat. _Four beat. _She didn't make a move towards it.

Then music started to play from the box. The handle on the side moving on its own. She was frozen on the spot, her feet seamlessly glued to the panels. She couldn't move.

It was like she was being _forced _to stay and go through this endeavor of madness.

Suddenly, the music stopped along with the handle. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, a shot of electricity danced along her limps. She hadn't realized how long she's been holding her breath until she felt a hot gust of _wind_ drift down her neck. A sensation crawled up her arms, fingers thumping against her forearm. And in that same exact moment the Jack-in-the-box went off, causing her to jump instinctively -- what felt like a ghost of a hand on her shoulder morphed into something real, planting her on the spot.

"Hello, darling."

This time it was her heart that shattered.

But she quickly shook it off and twisted around too quickly for her disheveled and exhausted mind to fully comprehend.

However, all she was met with was the cream colored walls. Nothing was there. _No one _was there. Her eyes drifted across the room, searching for the culprit. The _damn _clown.

With closer inspection, nothing was out of the ordinary.

The Jack in the box was gone -- the vase, not shattered into a million pieces on the ground, was still in its dust collective space.

A glass figurine of an angel smiled down at her from the shelf almost mockingly. Then she laughed. First it was a small chuckle, nervousness cracking at the edges. But then it grew, ripping through her throat, and she couldnt stop. The laughter of a lunatic.

Shes finally lost it. _Down the drain she goes, down the drain went her mind. _

What was wrong with her? Why her, why. Why. _Why. _

She suddenly stopped laughing, eyes fixated on a picture of her parents. They both wore smiles, a distant joy in their eyes. But they were dead.

Everyone is going to die. Even her. Louis will in a few years. That kid that ran in front of her car this morning will die too, eventually -- perhaps even tomorrow, from a car accident because he once again ran in the middle of the road -- or in the next thirty years. There was no telling.

Molly came to mind. Her death, once again, replaying in her mind.

In the deepest places of her mind stirred something sinister. A connection of some sorts. Sometimes she would see in the clowns perspective, feel and smell in his point of view. It was foirgn to her, unnatural. And in those horrible times she would expierence more deaths, more children dying. Torn apart by teeth and claws. She could taste their fear, or rather, what _It_ tasted. She's never been more repulsed in her life.

Her mind was unraveling, and there was nothing she could do except watch as she slowly crumbled underneath the wave.

_____

"I'm just saying you don't need to get me anything," Louis protested. "Money's tight as it is, I don't mind."

(Y/n) shot her grandmother a look and folded her arms, biting down on her tongue to muffle a yawn that clawed up her throat. "Bullshit. I'm not that broke."

The older woman narrowed her eyes at the use of fowl language, but she brushed it off this once. (Y/n) was a grown woman, after all. "You don't need to go all out like you usually do."

"I do not."

"Yes you do."

(Y/n)s voice laced with humor. "That's because I find amazing deals. What do you expect me to do, not succumb to my impulsive spending? I thought you knew me better, gran."

Louis chuckled, her expression turning serous shortly after. "You should consider selling this place. Getting out of Derry. I can see how this place is affecting you, I can see it. I should have never told you about this blasted towns history."

(Y/n) thought about it, but where would she go? She was was broke, like her grandmother stated. The house would never sell in time. The basement reaked of old mold, the stairs needed fixing, the roof in the attic leaked. She was stuck here, in her early grave. Derry already had her underneath its thumb.

Before she could stop herself she turned her thoughts into reality. "What if that curse you told me about was actually real?"

"It _is _real, (Y/n)--" Louis quickly clasped her lips shut, taking in the hidden terror that lurked in the depths of her granddaughters (e/c) eyes. She rethought over her question, forming her own. "What is your answer, is it? Or is it not? It's a matter of what you think of Derry."

Tears swelled in the corner of her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. Her voice, however, gave her away as it cracked. "I hate this place."

Louis noticed right away something was not _right. _She knew something was eating away at (Y/n), but this was getting out of hand. She took a step closer to her, hand outstretched. But (Y/n) instinctively slinked away from her touch. Worry consumed her mind.

"What's wrong, honey? Did something happen?"

_Don't say anything. Don't you fucking dare say anything. Don't risk her having another heartattack just because I want to vent. _

"No, I--" her voice caught in her throat briefly, "--nothing happened."

Louis saw right through her. Did (Y/n) uncover something she didn't know about?

"(Y/n), I hope you know you can talk to me. Right? I'm here for you, and I love you so much." This time she reached out again, tenderly setting her hand against her granddaughters arm in comfort. (Y/n) didn't pull away. "I hate seeing you like this."

The young woman closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of her grandmothers hand -- her stuttering nerves cooled down for the tiniest of moments. But there was no fixing how deep her mind was now.

"I know," she said. "I just don't want to scare you, is all."

Louis narrowed her eyebrows. "What are you talking about--"

"It's nothing, gran. You have a weak heart, I can't just tell you."

The older womans face turned sour, but (Y/n) could tell she wasn't really mad at her.

She snarked. "Calling me old, now, are you? I'm not _that_ weak. If I was I would have already been long gone by now."

(Y/n) pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

"What is it, then?"

She was hesitant. "You said you saw a clown once, right? In the Old Well House once."

The corner of Louis's eyes crinkled in confusion, the wrinkles on her forehead becoming more prominent the longer she mulled over her granddaughters words. Yes, she remembered to a certain extent. A clown in the top left window -- ginger hair and white caked on face, bucked teeth, and a red balloon -- that's all she could remember, however, the memory became fuzzy the harder she tried to remember exact details.

"Yes, why?"

_Don't say it, don't tell her. _

"What if I told you he was real?"

Silence fell over the pair. (Y/n) became very aware how Louis was closely watching her now. She squirmed uncomfortably, taking a small step back, attempting to hide her true emotions away.

"Have you..." Louis paused, staring straight into her eyes with suspicion and worry. "--Met him? Or whatever that thing is?"

(Y/n) swallowed the lump in her parched throat. She already regretted telling her.

_Just shut your damn mouth already. _

"Perhaps."

Warning signals went off in Louiss mind. Despite the topic, it all made sense. The way she was behaving. All the pieces began to fall into the correct spots -- a puzzle nearly finished.

But before she could get one word out in response, (Y/n) turned away and began to leave. _She needed to leave, she can't tell her. _That was, until Louis grabbed hold her shoulder, the same shoulder _he _defiled.

(Y/n) stiffened underneath her touch, fingers twitching against her side out of nerves. She almost lashed out, but luckily, she stopped herself just in time. However, she couldn't mask the way her lips curled, hostility painted into a snare. And she instinctively aimed it at Louis. She didn't mean to, she didn't mean to act this way. She was loosing control over herself, bit by bit.

She was selfish, trying to unload her burden to her grandmother. In the end it wouldn't make her feel any less afraid, it wouldn't have helped telling her. Two would be suffering from the fact, her getting the lashings of it all. Her grandmother possibly combusting from the fact that she was, in fact, correct about the curse of Derry. She didn't know what she would so if she lost Louis too. She couldn't go through that, she won't. No more people, no more death.

She'll just have to deal with her own demons, particularly a child eating one.

_Why did you open your big mouth anyways, dumbass? _

_Why would you tell her?_

_What if he went after her next -- you know he would. _

(Y/n) then shook Louis's hand off her shoulder, not passing another glance before walking out the front door.   
  



	23. Shadow

Pennywises fingers drummed against a rotten box, the Jack-in-the-box he used to frighten (Y/n). A bit of paint scraped off as he dragged his index across the top, remembering the melody of her quickened heartbeat. Her smell fogged his mind -- mist of innocence to his being, a scent unlike any other. She was the cause of his fumbling, his essential crisis.

Normal teeth turned sinister, three rows of sharp teeth sprouted from his gums as the mere thought of the woman. Claws cut through gloves at the thought of her soft flesh, her distinctive taste, delectable but deadly.

An animalistic growl cut through his throat as he threw the box off to the side. It broke as it hit the sewer wall.

A few long strides brought him over to his little pile of novelties, long forgetting about the now broken box. In a spit of rage he tore into it, throwing junk here and there. Amber eyes scanning with inhuman brilliants as he seemed to be looking for a particular item. A shock jotted up his arm as his hand roughly grasped the item, the skin at the side of his lips splitting further his smile grew, literally reaching up to his ballistic eyes. The fabric that used to be soft was now stiff from being soaked in muddy water, dried into a lumpy mass that resembled the silhouettes of the things it was scrawled across. The overbearing odor that stained the tiniest of its fibers was very faint now. The item did nothing to cool down his beastly outburst; in a matter of fact, the flames were fanned, every fiber in his_ body _crackled and popped in a disturbing manner. Bones crunched, drool dripped down his chin, his other hand clamped around a glass doll still from when he was shuffling through the pile.

It's head shattered into a million pieces, a large chunk of glass split though his hand. He ignored the inky mass that flowed from his wound -- like smoke, floating up towards the unknown, his original being -- he didn't feel pain. He unhinged his fist, the shards clattering to the ground. The glass that protruded his skin slowly sunk out as his body rejected the foreign object. However, through that whole ordeal his piercing gaze never once left the fabric.

He remembered very fondly when he ripped it from her coat.

He brought the fabric up to his nose, taking a large whiff. Putrid, stale. But underneath was the scent he was after. He didn't know what was wrong with him, why he was easily driven by the mere notion of a humans natural scent. It wasn't fear, no. It wasn't any emotion, really, it was just her. _A human. _Just the aroma of her, her sweat, it was distinctive enough where he could follow her like a hound dog would to a raccoon. She could move across the states and he would still be able to sniff her out.

Oh, how he wished he could just _kill her. _He, however, had no desire of eating her. Not anymore, at least. Not with how her blood turned him ill. It could only savour the intoxicating taste of her blood, the uncharacteristic feeling of tingles that shot through his body. The way it blankets his mind in a form of peace he didn't know he could feel. Addicting is what she was. Addicting, and something horribly bad for him.

That's what made him curious, too fixated on thought of something _different _then himself, and every human inhabiting this retched dimension, this weak planet overpopulated by even weaker parasites. She was a different being, he knew for something. A ghastly mixture that contained human and _something like him. _A mutt.

The power that flickered in her core lapped at his, drawing him in. Beckoning him to continue -- asking him to be near her. Why, he did not know. He did not like the persistent tung that he felt, that invisible string that mapped out his course to her front door.

He brought the fabric away from his face, his hand now at his side. His other one, claws glinting in the vaguely lit room, scratched his head for no particular reason.

His face frowned at the thought of the _strange_ human interaction he incountered. The odd feeling of lips against his own -- a human activity he never had the desire of trying. He knew what it meant. He knew their nature, their behaviors. What the activity usually lead to, simple show of affection between individuals, to human reproduction. The thought disgusted him. He had no use of reproducing. He didn't need to.

Or, that's what he thought. He came to this planet when he was significantly _young. _He hadn't seen anything like himself, he never met his species from what he could remember, nothing. Was he the only one? Was he even an _he. _By Earth standards he was male, but originally he did not know. Perhaps he was the last of his species: the one and only Deadlights. Maybe he was the only one to ever exist. Even a being as old as himself didn't know all the answers, sometimes he was much in the darkness as a human.

Skin peeled back as his claw still scratched at his head, fingers inching slowly through flesh. They sunk with a squishy sound -- like his skin was quick sand. His claws were quickly inching towards the core of his skull.

Against his own nature, the human affection did effect him in a way that displeased him. _It drew him in further towards her, like a fly to a spiders web. _He refused to be the fly, the prey. He was better then that. He was practically a _god. _Hell, his true form was some sort of araneae. A spider! He was a monster in their eyes, but they were all flies in his eyes. Pesky bugs asking to be sqoshed by the underside of his foot. To be eaten; at least that gave them a purpose in their pathetic life's, to feed his hunger. But she wasn't a fly, she wasn't like _them_. And that realization was what got to him. Why he was absently reaching into his own core, but he didn't know what he was looking for. Nothing, he supposed. A different stimulation to make him settle down before he does something drastic (not that he cared, really.)

Finally, his hand was engulfed, wrist deep within his own forehead. A familiar chill licked at his fingers as they brushed against a raminent of his larger being. The source of his power, himself. What made up his monstrous persona -- what made him the _beast. _An entity of fear and hatred, evil incarnate.

(E/c) eyes burned the darkness that surrounded his senses as he remembered showing her his true form. He wondered what she saw -- if she was briefly dragged into his plane of existence. She wasn't fazed by the Deadlights. She appeared... In awe for a short while. Curious even. It infurated him.

He yanked his hand from the confines of his head, seemingly satisfied that he wasn't _out_ of his mind. The fabric fluttered to the ground as it fell from his grasp. He stood there for a split second, mulling over what he would do next. Boots clicked against the concrete, water splashing as he stalked off to the exit and out into the sewer. He gave into his desires.

___

Pennywise stared intently at the dead animal splatted against the asphalt road. It was a small mass, black fur matted with frozen blood, guts exposed. Said guts were trailed down the road in the shape of tire tread marks. He plucked a squished eyeball that was stuck to the ground, stiff and frozen solid from the cold winter afternoon. The eye was a shade of green, or that's what he assumed. Bones tore through skin, a long tail half way ripped from its back bone. Dispite how disfigured the animal was, he could still make out what it species.

A cat. A black cat.

The clowns eyes snapped down the road, traveling over to (Y/n)s house. He knew this thing looked vaguely familiar. His gaze landed back onto the smeared cat.

Without hesitation, he yanked the dead feline off the road by its still intact leg. The thing was frozen solid to the road, frozen blood working as some sort of glue. And when he pulled, uncaring of the rest of its body, the upper half that consisted the skull stayed frozen on the spot. The feline tore in half, back legs now stiffly dangled in his grasped. The crack of bones sent a shiver of delight through him, remenceing the times where he ripped a few of his meals in half, if not in peices.

This time he sniffed the bit of fur that clung to the rotten flesh of the animal -- to make sure this thing was in fact hers.

It was there, very faintly. This cat was indeed (Y/n)s.

He dropped the cat uncaringly on the ground and stepped away. He deverted his attention to the house.

He invited himself into her home, taking up the space of her shadow. He watched her every move, from her cleaning to her cooking to her just watching the TV.

He watched the interactions between her and her grandmother, straining.

As soon as she went to her room, exhuastedly throwing herself on her bed, he finally left the prison of her shadow. His being melted into the shadows that engulfed the dark room. Eyes still fixed on her, perfectly capable of seeing in the dark, he switched his attention over to a family photo that sat atop her shelf. A wicked smile spread across his sinister features, his now gloved hand flexed beside him at the thought. She was now close to sleeping. His hand reached out and--

The photo came crashing to the ground, the glass of the frame shattering at the impact. In response, (Y/n) shot up out of bed at the loud noise. Pennywise quickly made himself scarce; he relished her reactions.

She scrambled out of bed and made her way to the shattered picture frame. He loomed over her figure from behind.

"How did this--" she finished her sentence with a irritated growl. She collected the frame and shards and picked herself off the ground; Pennywise was too engrossed in his thoughts to move, and in result once she stood up, her back side brushed up against something -- _him_.

(Y/n) made like hell and fled the wicked sensation. Her back slammed against the wall as she gaze locked in front of her.

The clown didn't bother disappearing, he was obvious caught. How? Because he was _reckless _this time. To engross in the slight anxiousness that creeped on her tired features. But now he was glad at the full view in front of him, her bare before him, wearing a mask of hatred and anger. He could see the distant terror in her eyes.

(Y/n)s eyes were glued to his in a staring contest. She wanted to hit him, stab him. She wanted to kill this thing. But she knew this clown could easily reach out and snap her neck, so she stayed put for now. It wouldn't take long before she finally snapped, resulting in her demise.

(Y/n) was the first to speak up. "What are you doing here."

Pennywise didn't answer at first, and it pissed her off more the longer he stared. But he soon cleared his throat, not helping his gritty voice at all, and offered her an innocent smile that seemed anything but. "Oh that doesn't matter, silly girl." He straightened out his back to reach his full height -- reminding her of their dramatic height difference. The smile he wore curled, a mocking chuckle left his lips. "Merely here to see how my _favorite_ human is holding up. You now, after you _rudely_ ran out on _our_ date." His face morphed into false pain, a hand on his chest. "Broke my dear heart!"

(Y/n) growled. He had the audacity to bring that up. Of course he would. What did she expect? For him to actually listen to her and leave? No, of course not. He will forever be a thorn in her side until the day he finally offs her. Which shouldn't be long, actually.

"Spare me the fucking details," she spat. "You don't even have a heart."

The clown fingers dug into the fabric of his clown suit, searching for the slow pulse of his heart. Indeed there was a heart beat. He did in fact have one. Once he landed here he had to have one, abide by the world's physics and such. He was limited, in a cage. A very large cage but still nonetheless.

His hand that was pressed against his chest was now against his forehead in mocking manner that only fueled her anger. "Oh dear, but I do."

(Y/n) scoffed at the notion. Her hands felt warm, wet and sticky; but she was too caught up in the moment to peer down to see was the cause. She was too exhausted for this, even the adrenaline that spiked her blood didn't help lift her up. An exhausted sigh left her lips. "Yeah, whatever. Leave me the hell alone. If you're going to kill me just get it over with, because I'm tired of dealing with this shit."

Pennywise halted at her words, his gaze finally falling on her form once again. He was about to wave off her comment, finishing with a threat of her bending doom. But then he completey stopped, his nostrils flaring as something delicious flooded his senses. He quickly made out the source -- her hand which was sliced by a piece of glass -- blood oozed from the wound, pittering to the floor. Without warning he was on her. His hands wrapped firmly around her delicate wrists, the broken frame and shards falling out of her grasp around her bare feet.

She yelped; she bit down on her tongue to stop the scream that threatened to escape. She didn't want to drag her grandmother into this.

(Y/n) beared her teeth, struggling against his tightening grip. "Get. Off. Me." Pennywise inhumanly growled.

He shoved her against the wall and drew her bleeding wound up to him. His freakishly long tongue licked intimidatingly along his sharp teeth, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in tease.

Time seemed to slow to a stop. One moment she felt warmth fan against her cool skin. The next was something hot lapping at her sensitive flesh. She suddenly felt the pain, the sting as his tongue pressed flatly against her cut. His yellow gaze was locked on hers. His lips latched onto her hand, sucking like a damn leech. She found herself in another horrible situation of being defiled by this creature. And she couldn't even pull away. She was like a statue -- legs stiff, eyes widen at the situation that seemed to replay over and over again. What would it be next, her stomach? Will he finally go berserk and bite her hand clean off, or rip her throat out? At this point she wouldn't be surprised. At that moment she truly didn't care. She was so... _Done. _Done with everything and everyone.

Soon Pennywise unlatched himself, her wound no longer bled. But he didn't let go of her. His towering frame surrounded her on all sides, caging her against the wall. She grimaced as his index finger tapped against her bottom lip, tracing between the two scabs that he caused. His other hand rested on her shoulder, forcing her against the wall, his clawed fingers dug into her shoulder. _That _display snapped her out of her stupor.

Next thing she knew, her teeth met his finger -- biting down as hard as she could, an inky mist left the corners of her mouth as her canines sunk deeper into his finger. Pennywise craned back in _surprise. _He tugged his finger away from her mouth; his claws now stabbed into her shoulder on purpose as he slammed her against the wall.

His life essential still drifted from her mouth even after pulling away, her teeth coated in his blood. He instinctively shivered at the sight, feeling drawn to the display of power. But that soon disappeared, much like his patience.

Foot steps came hurriedly from down the hall. His fingers unlatched from her shoulder, breaking away. He didn't want the towns crazy old hag going around saying he _existed. _He knew the losers club would come back to face him again. He knew all about what Mike Hanlon was doing, what he uncovered. He was too weak to face them now, much to his displeasure. He would _never _admit it outloud. So far the only person to know was (Y/n), and sooner or later she was going to die anyways. And if she ran off to Mike Hanlon about his presence, then he would simply have to get rid of her.

His two biggest weaknesses: courage and heart. (Y/n) had courage, she was willing to go off against him. But she was lacking _heart. _A missing puzzle piece. Something stopped her from killing him completely, a twisted fate that intertwined the two. Not yet, anyways. Certainly not now.

As soon as the door to her room jiggled, he was gone. And what was left behind was a mess of a woman with glass surrounding her feet. 


	24. You Belong To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Some people call me sick and twisted. I feel that I'm neither; I am instead a Romantic."
> 
> Song Link:  
https://youtu.be/D1tBUSupc8w

(Y/n) woke up to a peace that she almost forgot existed. Her sheets were warm, cozy, and she nuzzled deeper into her plush pillow. But that sliver of peace only lasted a second before reality finally kicked in. The bed was no longer a comforting warmth, nor was her room any sort of sanctuary. The one place that should make you feel safe, home, was no more.

He's been in here numerous times. He's terrorized her as well; biting, licking, and actually kissed her. She was the one to kiss him first -- his human shroud, though -- and ever since then she held a burning hostility for both him and herself. Him because, well, him. She despised herself for being so reckless, so spontaneous in her actions. That part of herself she loathed the most. She was also responsible, stupid, and beyond clumsy. She was a mess of a human, and that's why she was effortless prey to the thing. She came to terms with that, even though how much she disliked the truth.

When she finally did get up, she couldn't help but inspect the damage he's inflicted on her in the mirror. She's been ignoring the fact of how broken she looked. Tired, dull. Mainly just the exhaustion talking. Oh, and the trauma she's been through. Don't forget that little detail! Who could forget about almost being raped, or making out with a demon that eats children? Not her, of course! What's that saying... Hardships build character? But in truth, it just feels like it breaks you down brick by brick. You can either grow stronger or be torn down. She was not going to be labeled as delicate. A broken toy. No, she fucking wasn't. Fuck that shit. She would rather die than let anyone have their way with her. 

The bites, however, said otherwise. He had his way with her, one too many times. The healing wounds that tainted her skin would soon turn into scars, at least the one on her leg, and possibly the puncture teeth marks on her neck. The dull pain on her hand served as a reminder of what transpired a couple of days ago. The broken picture frame on her desk still held a remnant of the creature, the ghost of his voice that still ringed in her ear. Calling, singing to her in a maddening manner -- fingers curled and probed at her mind, her sanity. 

Maybe it was the lack of sleep that was turning her brain into mush as well. But she couldn't sleep; last night was an exception. Every time she did fall into a slumber, she would dream dreams that were unnatural. Dreams that allowed her to see through the eyes of the beast. To experience the unrelenting blood lust that consumed It's being, the hatred, and the unbearable confusion that ate away at Its mind. To relive others' deaths, personally feel as her teeth-- Its teeth sink into soft, hot flesh. The taste of the chemical balance of vasopressin and oxytocin flooding the system, kicking the body into the flight-or-fight response that It chased. It was a cruel and terrifying experience, and she tried her most damn to not go through that again. 

The other cause of her unrelenting worry was the escaped convict, Tony Underwood, she saw on the news at the bar. No other updates were made in the news besides the occasional reminder, showing his face to the public in a warning. He was a murderer, rapist, and drug addict; the literal definition of scum. It began with (Y/n), and it was only logical it would end with her too. It certainly wasn't the first time he's broken out of prison and came back to wreak havoc. 

First, was when they were teenagers; he didn't do anything to her, but he was intending to. Turns out he was stalking her, plotting various strategies of slaughter. The second run-in, and their last, was when she was in New Hemisphere. How he found her, she still doesn't know. He cornered her in an alleyway on her way back home from work. The town she resided in was fairly safe to stroll in the evenings, so it never crossed her mind that she would go through that kind of predicament. She wasn't the brightest, after all. One should always be ready, just in case. Luckily, she had pepper spray. Without that she wouldn't be alive. One of these days she wasn't going to be so lucky.

She made her way downstairs and attempted to shake the bad mood that hung like a dark cloud above her. It was becoming hard to put a smile on her face nowadays. But she'll suck it up for today, considering it was the holidays. 

"Ah, good morning, sweetie. Merry Christmas."

"Good morning--" she replied automatically without thought. Was it a good morning, per se? Absolutely not, because it was Christmas, and that meant spending time with the family. Her parents were dead, what else could she say. Of course, she had her grandmother, but it just wasn't the same. 

Perhaps she was being insensitive. Perhaps not. But damn if she cared. 

Her dad's chair was empty, the television on the wall wasn't turned on with a holiday movie playing; the traditional ruckus of pans and such, followed by the hardy aroma of Christmas ham, a holiday meal that her mother always took upon herself to make. She was surprised to find her grandmother cooking the meals with no help. She plastered on a subtle smile, shaking off her bitter thoughts, and went to the sink to clean the dirty dishes that piled up. "Smells good in here."

"Thanks, it's been some time since I've cooked Christmas dinner all by myself." Louis lightly glowed, brushing her flour-coated hands on the baggy apron that hung from her frame. "Your mother was always persistent about that. I enjoy cooking, but not as much as her." (Y/n) chuckled. 

Soon she was finished with the dishes, wiping away stray food off the counters. She couldn't fully think straight. Various scenarios of her parent's death played once again, followed by others she didn't know. Shrill voices blended together, speaking in hushed tones -- like they were trying to keep a secret. But she could make out one word out of the masses. 

Here. 

(Y/n) didn't know what that meant, nor did she want to find out.

There is no God. 

Before she could stop herself, she blurted out the question that part of her deep down kept constipating ever since she met the unusual creature. "Do you think there is a Heaven or Hell?"

"What?"

"Do you believe that there is someplace after we die? Like heaven or hell. Are there such things as demons, angels?" She was pretty sure Pennywise was a demon, or whatever the hell that thing was. 

Louis shot her a side glance. "Where is this coming from all of the sudden?"

(Y/n) clamped her mouth shut. She sounded like a complete idiot, asking that. "It's... Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Look, honey, if this is about your parents you can talk to me. I know you miss them, I do too. It's hard. This is the first Christmas I don't get to spend with my baby. And... I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have you." Louis felt tears burning behind her eyes, and she bit back a sob. She wrapped her arms around (Y/n), giving her a reassuring hug. "I love you, alright. Now go sit down and relax, turn on the radio or something. You've been under stress."

Despite the miss communication behind the question, (Y/n) appreciated the hug nonetheless and her words of reassurance even though how vague they were. Louis was never fortunate with this kind of stuff, but neither was she. Not by any means, really. 

(Y/n) shook off her uneasiness like she knew something was bound to pop out at any given second, and released the tension in her shoulders she didn't know she's been holding. She leaned against the counter, cocking an eyebrow at the elderly woman. "Shouldn't you be the one relaxing." That caught Louis's scrutiny, and she picked up a roller. 

She then proceeded in waving the roller around, right in (Y/n) personal space. She tried to make herself look irritated, but (Y/n) could see right through her. 

"Run along now. Out of my work workspace." Louis playful shooed. 

(Y/n)'s unpleasant mood lifted for a split second, a tiny chuckle left her dry lips. She proceeded to leave but before she did, however, she spots Salem's filled cat bowl of food. It's been almost two days since she last replenished the bowl. Two days Salem has last been seen. Could he have gotten out somehow?

"Hey gran, have you seen Salem around? I think he's gotten out."

"No, I haven't."

(Y/n) snatched the cat food bag from its place in the pantry and made her way into the brittle cold that reached below zero degrees Fahrenheit. 

Snow danced in the wind, falling gracefully to the white blanket ground. The trees in the area held no leaves; tiny ice crystals dangled along dark branches. They glittered in the sun that tried to peek out of the clouds -- like dazzling lights in the dark. Although it was a glorious sight to behold, something didn't sit quite right. Maybe it was the lack of life, or the snow that clung to her warm skin. Either way, the chill seemed to soak seep into her bones like cotton in water. It was too cold out.

She hastily jiggled the bag around and called for the cat. Concern filled her chest when he didn't show. A few more attempts and still the same result. 

If he was outside, then he surely would have frozen to death by now, unless he's found a safe spot. She didn't see any footprints in the snow indicating Salem was nearby. He must be starved. Hungry and alone, just like when she found him. 

Poor baby, (Y/n) thought. 

She had a feeling she would never see him again. The sooner she came to terms with that, the better. But perhaps there was another cat in heat? Maybe this, maybe that. Either way, she went back in because it was way too frigid for her to just stand out there in only a T-shirt and sweats. 

"Did you find the rascal?" Louis asked. 

"No," she muttered, putting the food away in its place. With limited energy or enthusiasm, she hauled her feet out of the kitchen. She agreed to take Gran's advice and turn on the radio. 

As soon as her finger brushed against the start button, she yanked her hand away, startled by thunderous pounding on the front door. A few more knocks and the noise receded into silence. Confusion, along with a big fat warning, filled the vacant stillness. Who could that be, she wondered. The post office doesn't run today. So who could possibly be here at 10 a.m on Christmas morning? Possibly someone who needs help. She couldn't shake the red flags away, however. 

Little does she know, she should have heeded to the possible danger 

Louis popped her head out of the kitchen. "Who could possibly be at the door at this time of day?" (Y/n) shrugged, and caustically made her way to the source of her sudden discomfort. 

"I don't know, but I'll get it."

Her heart rate spiked as her hand clenched the cold doorknob. She held her breath as the door slowly pulled back, eyes shifting for anything of malice. But there was nothing -- no-one was there, no footprints littered the crisp white snow that blanketed her front porch. On her doormat sat a red carton, a white bow delicately wrapped around the seemingly innocent package. 

(Y/n) knew straight away something was not right. She didn't dare bring the box into the house. Instead, she crouched down and plucked the tag that sat top the box. In neat cursive it read:

To (Y/n),

The lost has been found, but not all in one piece. 

From Yours Truly. 

Knitted eyebrows, mouth a-gap as she stared silently at the note. It couldn't possibly be from... 

A disgusting odor came from the box, practically answering her assumptions. Decomposing meat, that's what the sickening aroma was. She didn't want to open the box. 

But of course, she wanted to at the same time. And she did, only because it probably would appear somewhere in the house later on if she hadn't. Damn fucking clown, she cursed. 

She didn't know what it was at first, only that it was a pulp of meat. Then it hit her -- like a brick to the face, or in this case, the putrid smell. Ebony fur, tiny like a cat. Then she spotted the ruddy collar. She recognized it admittedly. She knew it was Salem. (Y/n) finally lost it. 

She started to see red, literally. 

Red clashed with white -- like fresh blood against white tiles. They drifted through the air, down the street. The first one, then two, next thing there were hundreds. She could only see red. The balloons were set as a reminder for reasons she knew. A plaguing nightmare that followed her -- begging for her undivided attention to the one and only, that damn creature. Coaxing her sanity like a parasite, chipping away her tolerance, making her contemplate her existence. 

The sound of the radio turning on startled (Y/n) out of her heated thoughts. A song played out, full blast. She expected a Christmas toon -- how naive of her. Instead, it was a seemingly innocent song, but she figured out the context being the choice fast. She froze. 

"--And tonight, you belong to me."

Familiar anxiety clawed at her chest, causing her to leap up. 

"Way down along the stream, how sweet it will seem. Once more just to dream in the moonlight."

Laughter filled the empty space, crackling in every direction. Not from just one person, but many. Delirious laughter filled with distress -- with an intense turmoil that almost made her laugh along with them. They dug, clawed, pawed; everything considered sinister was thrusted at her. The laughter was contagious.

"My honey I know, with the dawn,

That you will be gone--"

First (Y/n) lightly giggled, unstable and shaking at the end. Then she really laughed. She joined in with the voices, the others that compressed her on all four sides. 

"But tonight, you belong to me."

Music was still teasing, and there was a dead cat on her front porch, but she didn't care. Not right now, anyway. Nor did she when she heard a very familiar chuckle right beside her that should have made her run. She knew when she turned towards the source, there would be nothing. Like the little bitch, he was. She also didn't feel like dealing with his bullshit. At first, she tried avoiding the facts, but what did that get her? Since when did ignoring the problem ever make it go away? She would just have to grab the bull by the horns and hope she doesn't die. But hope can only get you so far. And at this point, she didn't have much left. 

(Y/n) was brought out of her ballistic trance by someone snatching her shoulder. At first, she didn't bother passing the person a glance, now silent and staring down at the box with a blank face. Then they lightly shook her, their words falling on deaf ears. When she finally looked up, she was met with a concerned look that belonged to Louis. 

"Who was it--" Gran asked for the third time. "What's gotten you so worked up--" her eyes shifted down to the red box with it's cover barely sitting up top. She crinkled her nose at the horrible smell coming from it. "What is that and who is it from?"

It took a few second for (Y/n) to actually answer, her voice cracked as she spoke -- like she hasn't spoken in years.

"Looks like I've found Salem."

Don't tell her, don't let her look.

Louis peeled the top off before (Y/n) could even stop her. She almost hurled at the sight.

"Oh my God, who could do this to an animal! Poor Salem. Did you see who sent this?"

"No," (Y/n) replied. She placed the cover back on and scooted the box away from the front door, but still kept it on the porch. "I'll bury him later. I can't in this weather"

"(Y/n)," Gran addressed. "What are you not telling me." 

The younger woman shrugged her off and closed the front door. She made her way to the living room and turned off the damn radio.

Louis called her granddaughters name again, but this time grabbing her by the upper arm to fully grasp her attention. "Was it... You know who?"

"Who?"

"You know who I'm talking about. Don't play stupid, girl."

"Tony Underwood? Possibly. But that's not his style."

"No--" Louis shook her head, and guided them over to the couch. Once they were seated, she continued. "The curse of Derry."

"Gran, what I said a few days ago... Just forgot about that. I was severely sleep-deprived, and I was hallucinating. Nothing more."

"You're a terrible liar. Next time, make up a better excuse. Tell me what's been going on." 

Tell her, and she dies.

"I cant, Gran. I... I just can't." 

"Do you not trust me?"

"Of course! It's just I can't. Not this time."

"Why, (Y/n)? Why can't you tell me what's been hurting you? Everytime I see you, you look like you're about to pass out. You've become jumpy. Distant. Always right out straight... Head down in the gutter. You've snapped at me. You've came home with bite marks and basically snarled at me like some feral animal. That wound on your leg; that broken finger. You worry me, hun. 

"I know it's been a rough few months, but I know you're strong. I know it's something else. And it has to do with this blasted town... T-that thing I saw before. I knew I should have never told you -- I mean, you already knew but I should have never laid it down on you like that. Especially in such a fragile state of mind. I'm sorry, (Y/n), for doing that to you. I want to fix this, I want to help." But once again, her words fell on deaf ears.

"I don't need help." She broke away from Louis's grip. "Just leave me be, please."

"(Y/n)--"

She finally snapped. "I said leave it be."

Louis narrowed her eyes. She couldn't hide the hurt that she tried to mask. "Fine. Have it your way. I'll be here when you cool down." And with that, Louis went back into the kitchen.

A relieved sigh left her lips as she watched Louis's retreating form. Then the regret hit full force at the cruelty of how she treated her grandmother. But it had to be done, she had to be like that.

"Marvelous show!" A voice blared right next to her ear; she nearly jumped out of her skin. "You really need to work on how you lie -- practice your way with words, some might say. How else are you going to hide our little 'friendship' without miss noisy hag always meddling into your life--"

(Y/n) snapped her head in the direction of the voice in an almost inhuman manner. 

No one was there.

"--smart girl, not telling ol' granny about little ol' me. Saves me the time of killing her. Not that I dislike doing such a thing. On the contrary, its the most entertaining specialty of mine. Not like I'm running out of time, either. I got all the time in the world!" The owner of the voice was nowhere to be seen. 

"Get out of my head, you sick fuck."

"Am I in your head? Do you even have a head anymore between those shoulders, or has it been knocked off?" The voice began to hum a toon she couldn't quite recognize. "I hear them too. I see them too. Their in your head that's almost dead."

(Y/n) stayed peeled to her surroundings. "I'm not fucking crazy. You're gonna pay for what you've done to my cat."

A chuckle bounced of the walls. "Oh dear, what do you think I did to your precious cat?"

"You know what the you did."

Unexpectedly, something materialized out of thin air right in front of her. Or rather someone. It was, of course, Pennywise the dancing little bitch. His back was bent to come face to face with her, but he still held a dominant stance -- he still towered over her uncomfortably.

"Humor me, " he said.

(Y/n) pressed deeper into the couch, desperate to add a few more inches away from the clown. 

"How dare you act like a dumbass to my face. Do I have to spell it out for you? You killed my cat. Get. The. Fuck. Away."

Pennywise bursted into laughter at the mere accusation. He's killed animals before, but not this time. Of course she couldn't tell.

"I didn't have the pleasure. He was already splattered all over the road."

"Bullshit."

"Would you like me to show you where he was? There's still pieces of him stuck to the asphalt with his entrails trailing down the street."

"No. Just- just leave."

"I can't do that either," Pennywise said. "But what did you think?"

"Of what?"

"Your present." He leaned forward, waiting for her response.

(Y/n) deadpanned. "You mean my dead cat?" Was this thing serious?

She threw her hands up. "Oh, I don't know, fucked up. That's not a present, you damn giggling sewer ginger. That's a shear way to give someone, oh let me think -- trauma. But that's what you were going for, weren't you?"

Pennywise narrowed his gaze, but kept his composer. He thought she'd like that he found her cat for her, but alas, he was wrong. She was a confusing creature to decipher. But what confused him the most was why he even cared.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"But why," she demanded. "Why do you insist on pestering me. What could you possibly gain from this?"

"You keep asking that, and it'll always be the same answer." His fingers found her right cheek, pinching them a little too harshly. That side of her face turned red from the contact. Her other cheek flustered up as well at the pure audacity of Pennywise and his lack of respect for personal space. Then again, he lacked respect for everything. Anger -- after the sliver of shock left -- finally kicked in and she slapped his hand away with a venomous hiss. Something broke in her.

Without warning, or further thought for her own safety, she flung herself at the damn clown. Her nails dug into the skin of his face, exceeding in peeling flesh back. The sensation was strange, different. She expected it to feel gross, with blood clotting underneath her nails. It felt unnatural, like soft skin, plastic, without anything organic leaking out. But then she finally remembered who she was dealing with, then it all made sense. Everything sinister oozed from the wounds. Before she could do any further damage her wrist her snatched up. A firm grip harshly yanked off the couch and her face collided hard to a chest. So hard she felt her nose knock back into her skull. One of her wrists was let go and a hand shot up to her face. A large hand forcefully snatched her jaw and quickly craned her head back to look up -- she swore she had whiplash now from the sudden movement.

"Had your fun?" His eyes were yellow. He was pissed.

(Y/n) didn't care, though. She was the one pissed. She thrashed around in his grip. Her voice lifted and dripped with venom. "Let go of me! Let go--" Pennywise fingers dug into her jaw painfully, yanking her head in the direction of the kitchen.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. What would she think, seeing you like this, with me? Well, she could possibly die from from a heart attack from the surprise. We wouldn't want that, now would we?"

The threat hung thickly in the air, suffocating. (Y/n) clamped her mouth shut completely, but stared murderously at the creature that still held her.

"Good girl," Pennywise taunted.

Amber eyes scanned over her form, stopping at where they connected. A sudden perplexed expression ghosted over his features like a mask at the surprising sight.

Sharp talons, black at the tips and longer then two inches, was in place of (Y/n)'s normal nails. They were black -- like a raven. He watched as they slowly retracted. It also came to a shock for (Y/n) as well. The talons shot back out, not fully retracted in the first place, as Pennywise brought her hand closer to his face.

(Y/n) hissed. "Don't." Nothing good ever came out when something was put near his face. 

But he just sniffed her hand. He was trying to figure her out, why a human was able to do such a thing. Unless, of course, she wasn't human. Not fully, at least. 

The new development captivated Pennywise. Enough where he wanted her to lacerate his face again. To watch all the bent up aggression burst loose. The pain she inflicted was different then all others. The cause was unknown. This sensation was a mystery that he wanted to solve immediately; it was like the gears in his head was broken, and she had the parts to fix them. 

A timer in the kitchen went off.

His strong grip unhinged from her form, before shortly shoving her down on the couch. (Y/n) was getting sick of being thrown around.

A shit-eating grin curled up his lips at the sight of her fuming body on the couch. Talons dipped into the soft cushions of the furniture.

Pennywise did a little bow, yellow gaze still locked on (Y/n). "I'll leave you to your holiday." And then he disappeared.

And once again she was engulfed in agonizing silence. The quiet was a perfect time for her to think, and she did no want to be left to her own thoughts. Anything but that. 

(Y/n) could still feel his repulsive touch, how he had no regard if he was being too rough. She was positive she would have bruises the shape of fingertips on her jaw. She could feel them forming. 

When she peered down at her hands, they were back to normal. She attempted to extract them but to no luck nothing happened. 

She signed."What the hell is wrong with me..." 

With the television now turned on to a Christmas movie, she could finally clear her mind. 

She was bouncing back quicker from these encounters with Pennywise, and she didn't know if that was a good thing.

Certainly bad, no doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.
> 
> Sorry the story is going slow. But don't worry, things are about to get hectic. 
> 
> I'm thinking of writing a Michael Myers x Reader, what do you guys think? 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed. Have a nice day.


	25. Change Isn't Always The Best

  
The weather never did let up -- snowy with a bone chilling freeze that numbed all limps. In a way, it reflected (Y/n)s mood: too calm, nonethessless, a storm brewed below the stony surface of her form that even scared her. A million questions buzzed around her skull, reminding her that sooner or later she would have to sort out this shitty predicament she stepped in.

Shovel in hand, she dug a hole in her backyard to burry her rotting cat that was only a few feet from her. Was she sad? Of course. Was she crying? No, and that's what frightened her more. She should be crying, right?

But perhaps it was because she already came to terms with Salem's death before she even knew.

Her wet un-covered hands clasped the once frosty metal handle of the shovel, the ice melted to her touch, but the metal never did warm up. Every movement, every steamy breath that left her chapped lips, and every snow that settled upon her shoulders and hood caused her limps to become numb. The bandaged hand began to sting from the tedious movement of her digging. She barely noticed the warm blood that oozed from the sloppily wrapped palm, and droplets settled against the crisp white of the ground.

Pain was a recurring friend, one that was beginning to fade into the background of ongoing trauma. But it never left. It seeped into her skin, carved into her bones, chained her soul into place. The pain of loosing her cat only added to the pile, but it was dampened. Her thoughts were on other things. Changes that were morphing her into something she's not.

(Y/n) barely registered how much she had dugged before she placed the box into the ground. And as soon as she was finished putting dirt into the hole she rushed into the bathroom.

The mirror reflected herself. She was there, physically, inched towards the glass in a calulating manner. A ghost of a person stared back at her -- eyes a void, and tired of everything. She was tired of everything.

She stared expectantly at her hand, waiting for sharp claws to once again appear. She focused really hard on trying to make them come out. But in her mind, she knew she was crazy. Perhaps it was schizophrenia she has, and everything she's been through has been because of hallucinations. There was no such thing as Pennywise. All the pain she felt was caused by herself.

"I'm just crazy," she said. "None of this is real." She still focused on her hand, however, still trying.

She was crazy, indeed.

A familiar ache prickled at her skull. Every second, every breath, every ounce she put into trying to make whatever happened earlier that day caused the pain to intensfy.

A jolt zapped through her veins as her hands clenched around the sink. Fire engulfed her form and she cried out. (Y/n) suddenly lost grip on the edge of the sink and collapsed to the ground.

Fingers twitching, legs spasming, she opened her eyes but saw nothing. Blinking lights filled her vision, causing her twisting stomach to burn even more. Ripples in water, inky, protruding from the blinding, twinkling lights that barely soothed her into a trans. Dark masses form, features defined. Foreboded faces of people floated around in her head -- deceised or alive, she did not know. They floated around, barely minding the prying eyes.

(Y/n) tried to excape the rythm of caresses that fluttered over her limps. The wailing cries of the people in her head began to scream as they zipped every which way, now with their lifeless eyes trained on her. Like she was the cause of their torment, their pain.

She could feel the pain that radiated off the faces that didn't even exist. Like they were most certainly real and present.

But (Y/n) body seemed to reject the remorse she felt for the heads. Instead, she felt threatened, challenged. Her mid section, in turn, snapped in half. Literally.

She screamed. Or so she tried to. Nothing left her lips.

Every bone seemed to vibrate in pulses with the increasingly blinking lights -- snapping out of place, rearranging, then snapping back into its own position. (Y/n) barely had the strength to move her arms, but was able to lift her hand to try to block out of the lights. What she saw next baffled her.

She was glowing. Bright yellow and white lights twinkled over her fingertips and down her wrists.

A scaly hand shot out from the mist and firmly wrapped around her ankle.

(Y/n) growled, yelling for the thing to unleash her. Yet, her voice was only a whisper against the wind. The hand never let go, but instead started pulling back. It began dragging her.

_Why_, she thought, _what is happening. Is this a dream? _

Little by little she was engulfed by a void, a black pool of nothingness that felt like icy liquid against her still glowing limps.

Nails dug into her skin, pulling her which and every way.

A growling of a vicous animal sounded beside her head, placed right atop her. Something wet hit her cheek, the next droplet landing on her forehead. Alarms went off in her head. Something felt familar.

Everything hurt as she forced her body to move, and as she craned her neck to see what it was caused her heart to completely stop.  
A giant fucking spider.

The spider was bigger then herself -- bigger then two grown men stacked up top each other. It was brown with a red undertone, with black wiry hair covering it's huge body and long legs. Its leathery skin glistened in the light her body illuminated as if it was coated in slim. The one thing that stuck out the most was it's eyes.

It's eyes were also glowing, all eight of them. They were the only becons in the dark.

_Could spiders even growl_, she wondered. _But spiders definitely aren't that fucking big. _

Her breathing quickened as it brung it's head closer to her paralyzed form. Every fiber of her body screamed to get up and run. But she couldn't.

The thing blinked at her, tilting it's head to the side almost in curiosity. The spider appeared to be studying her. Hopefully not for it's next meal. But luck was never on (Y/n)s side. Never as been, and possibly never will be. That's the reality she came to expect.

(Y/n)s finger twitched, reminding her that they were still able to move. The slight movement didn't go unnoticed by the spider. In response, it's sharp fangs hissed open -- rows of teeth now showing, more light flooding out of its jaws like a flashlight.

(Y/n) didn't think as her hand lifted off the ground -- a ground she didn't know even existed, there was nothing, after all. The woman wasn't in control of her body what's-so-ever as her hand was now in the air, hovering over the spiders menacing face.

_Pull away_, her mind screamed, _pull away!_ But her hand stayed there.

The creature sneered at it, but didn't reel back. It studied the appendage trying to find any danger and malice. But once known came, it settled down, still ready to bite her hand off if it wanted to. Hell, it could possibly eat her whole it really wanted to.

Why hasn't it attacked yet? She wondered many things, such as why her hands is still in the air, almost wanting to pet the thing. _Get the fuck away from it. _But she wasn't in control.

The creatures head come closer to her hand, sniffing it or whatever spiders did. The woman's fingers twitched again, then her wrist. Next thing she knew her hand was coming closer to it's head.

The world stopped. Literally.

As soon as her hand made contact with the side of its head, everything stood still. Her breathing stopped altogether. The spider didn't blink as it processed the new sinsation. It's mouth closed shortly after. (Y/n) definitely couldn't process the situation that was occurring. Specially what happened next.

The spider almost _nuzzled_ against her touch. Almost like it _enjoyed_ it.

Suddenly, her heart rate sped up as her fingers began petting the thing. Its hair felt pricky against her palm, she noted. The spiders eyes closed for a second as her fingers combed through its thick hair. A buzzing sound came from it, ticking almost.

A sinsation filled her chest at the sight and sound. However, her head quickly snuffed it out as soon as it came.

_No_, she warned. _This doesn't feel right, this can't be real. _

It was peaceful one second, next thing a scream sounded off in the distance. The gaint ass spider left as soon as it came, following the direction of the scream.

Minutes passed and more screams followed. Hot liquid pumped through her veins -- like boiling water through pipes -- and she began to sweat. The pain soon died down along with the wails.

Suddenly, (Y/n)s body came back to life. Well, sort of. Everything felt completely raw and exposed as she attempted to claw away. Relieve flooded her body, but the didn't last for long. There was no way of excape.

_Away to where_, she sneered, _there is no where!_

(Y/n) opened up her mouth to speak but like before, nothing came out.

Everything was pitch black, the ground she crawled on was no different. There was absolutely nothing but darkness. Blank, void, and cold.

She didn't hear anything coming up on her but what she did hear was the familar ticking. A thud made her look over towards the creature. However, it wasn't the spider who made the noise. A dead man laid on the ground. He looked to be in his early thirties and native American. He wore animal furs that was now drenched in blood. The man looked... Off. Like he was from a long time ago.

She should have been off putted by the apparent dead person laid before her, but at this point she's been through enough to where this brushed right off her shoulder.

The spider nudged it towards her.

(Y/n) stared confusingly at it before backing away. She wanted to scream at the thing but she couldn't speak still. The woman just pushed herself further away from the thing.

The creature shoved the corpse at her. She barely dodged the bloody limps that almost touched her.

It's eyes narrowed at her and annoyance rolled of it in waves -- crashing against her, feeling the same bitter annoyance the thing felt. A mirror of emotions, feeling the same thing. Or at least (Y/n) did. She understood what it meant, but she didn't know _how_ she knew. She felt connected to the creature.

And not in a good way. Not the way she wanted to be.

Before anything else could transpire between the two, she took off into a limping sprint. Soreness settled in her joints. She ran and ran.

An ancient hunger resurfaced from the thing -- a fleeting moment. She still felt it's presents despite the lack of movement behind her.

And when she looked back -- she hadn't moved at all. The giant spider was still there, along with the corpse. It was like she was trapped in a cage.

The spider lunged at her. The last thing she saw was it's fangs coming for her.

Light once again filled her vision, but this time it actually hurt and she could barely see. Once her vision cleared, she was faced with a ceiling. An actual _fucking_ cieling. An unfamiliar one, at that.

Realization sprung up in her mind -- red flags telling her to get the fuck up.

The smell of bleach and lemon assaulted her senses. A quickening beeping sounded beside her and she tried to look over at the source. Pain suddenly pulsed through her muscles at the attempt, but she pushed through it.

What (Y/n) saw was a heart monitor -- which was connected to her. She was in a hospital.

The sound of a door opening scared the living day lights out of her.

"You're finally awake," someone said. "I'll go get the doctor right away! I'll be back in a second."


	26. Time Of Transition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (WARNING: I'm on that dumb bitch juice. I'm sorry. Also, don't be shy at commenting mistakes. I just wrote and wrote, but didn't bother reading over it. So yeah, it's probably shit.)
> 
> 🛑🛑🛑  
I've had a few people ask me -- on here and on Wattpad -- when this story will actually become a 'fanfic', as in romance will be involved. Note, this will be a long story. It already is. So my answer is, it shouldn't be too long till a somewhat mutual understanding is established. I don't wanna give away anything. Yes, there will be romance. But like real life, this shit takes time. Especially with what I'm working with lmao. Don't worry, it'll be in here. 
> 
> Also, I post on Wattpad before AO3. I've had this chapter out for days but forgot to publish it on here rip. Sorry guys. My Wattpad version also has more content, such as memes and art, if you wanna check that out. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter!

_ **Last Time On Poison** _

_______

_Light once again filled her vision, but this time it actually hurt and she could barely see. Once her vision cleared, she was faced with a ceiling. An actual fucking cieling. An unfamiliar one, at that._

_Realization sprung up in her mind -- red flags telling her to get the fuck up._

_The smell of bleach and lemon assaulted her senses. A quickening beeping sounded beside her and she tried to look over at the source. Pain suddenly pulsed through her muscles at the attempt, but she pushed through it._

_What (Y/n) saw was a heart monitor -- which was connected to her. She was in a hospital._

_The sound of a door opening scared the living day lights out of her._

_"You're finally awake," someone said. "I'll go get the doctor right away! I'll be back in a second."_

________

"You've been in the hospital for about a month now," the doctor stated in an even tone. The balding man held himself straight, professional and proper, even though he seemed borderline exhausted. Dark bags encased misty grey eyes as they met her own strained ones. 

  
The world seemed to stop. What did he just say? That couldn't be right. She couldn't even think right; perhaps she didn't hear them right?

The middle aged doctor patiently waited for her response. She couldn't even remember his name, nor the nurse's. Maybe Dr. Kien, or Dr. Kyan -- she couldn't remember. Perhaps the nurse's name was Betty, but she honestly couldn't care less. All that really matter was explanation of the predicament and, of course, leaving this (fucking) hospital.

All the thinking caused her head to hurt more; she rubbed her temples as she addressed the doctor. "What?" Or that's what she attempted to say -- her voice cracked and dried, burning at the sensation of cold air hitting her parched throat. The lack of drinking caused her saliva to be little to none.

The nurse immediately saw the struggling, and handed a cup of water with a straw to her. Without a second thought she sipped hurriedly at the life saving liquid. The cold water in contrast to her dessert mouth was pure bliss, and the relief granted was enough for her to forget the surfacing headache. She felt her saliva thicken suddenly -- almost in a slimy condition -- but it felt nice. The second the water hit her stomach, she felt her gut curl up with in. Reality was lost to her once more before being brought back by the doctor's voice.

He didn't look up from his clip board as he wrote, but he answered immediately. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Ms (L/n). But you must have hit your head and got a concussion. That's what your Grandmother told us, that is. Do you know what happened that could have caused your coma?"

She tried to remember, she really did. One second she was looking into the mirror, the next she was on the bathroom floor. And then that... Nightmare. It was real, it had to be. The pain felt all too real.

(Y/n) looked around, but the only people that were in the room was the doctor, nurse, and herself. Something shattered in her chest.

"I-- no. No, I don't," she stuttered. "Where's my grandma?"

"We sent her home because she needed rest, and an armchair wasn't helping get her sleep. She's been up here for weeks with you." The nurse made her way to the door. "I'll call her now if you'd like."

(Y/n) shook her head, but she immediately regretted the action as vision became blurred. Hot flashes of pain rippled over her skull. She immediately stilled her movement.

The blonde headed nurse in turn nodded her head, flashed a reinsuring smile, and left the room to retrieve (Y/n)s food.

The bed-ridden woman turned her attention back to the doctor. She didn't dare move, however. "So, you don't know what really happened to me? I was just in a coma."

"Yes, and no." The doctor checked over her heart rate. "Many of your bones were broken-" He paused, uncomfortable and confused at the ordeal. A every atmosphere settled over them, almost suffocating.

"After you were brought in," he finished, hesitation clearly present.

Eyebrows scrunched, her lips turned downward -- she was beyond confused. She wasn't covered in casts, nor wore any bandages, only a hospital gown and the wires contacted to keep her alive. She seemed fine besides her head. Though, in that dream... It felt like every bone in her body was being snapped in half and put back together -- like some child's toy.

She closed her eyes to rid the bad thoughts, but the pain seemed to flare back up at the memory.

"Those broken bones we previously thought you had disappeared. Cleared up. Perhaps a technical glitch in the x-ray..."

(Y/n) knew there was something the doctor wasn't telling her. Before she could even speak. Not like she could, anyways, he continued without a beat to loose.

"But there's nothing to worry about, Ms (L/n), except you getting better. I'll call your grandma later to let her know you're up. She'll be relieved."

She narrowed her eyes at the doctor, still processing the new information. She was foggy in the mind, a bit slow at the moment. But she's been in a coma for three weeks, give her a break.

The doctor left soon after with new information in hand; the blonde nurse soon came in with a tray of food. The sight of the hospital meatloaf caused her stomach to growl in participation. The smell that soon followed, engulfing the entire room in it's delicious aroma, made her mouth water at the thought of finally filling the empty void in her stomach. The nurse carted the tray of food beside her bed, before securing it on a bed table and placing it in front of her. The bed was already lifted to a seated position, when that happened, she couldn't recall.

The nurse respectfully stepped away from the bed to give her space. "Here you go, ma'am."

(Y/n) said her thanks and began eating, the nurse's presence completely going unnoticed. The hearty mixture of tomato paste and beef served as an excellent filler, despite the small portion. The reason behind that was so she didn't yak in bed from the sudden fill, she thought.

Something bright flashed in her vision, causing her to stop eating the hospital food that was already half way gone. Her gaze landed on the nurse, who stared back, the corner of her lips twitching. The clenching and unclenching of hands were noticable. (Y/n) was surprised she was still here. She hadn't noticed the other woman in the room.

Suddenly, the nurse spoke up, a bit of edge in her voice that, despite the casual tone of her words, seemed like she was irritated at the conversation entirely. "So, how'd the lil transformation go?"

She almost choked on her food.

"What?" She glared out at the woman.

"Or, that's what I believe is what happened. I'm quite surprised, little one." The blonde woman walked around (Y/n)s bed before settling beside her seated form. "I still don't know what you are, but now I have the faintest idea."

(Y/n) heart rate picked up; if the creature couldn't hear it straight from her chest, he could definitely hear it on the heart monitor. She wasn't scared of It has bad as when she first met It -- everything she's been through, gone through, barely dulled the fear she once felt for the monster. Don't get her wrong, It still frightened her. It was a monster after all, something that was unknown still. But that was only scratching the surface.

The nurse leaned in, suddenly becoming too close for comfort. The monsters yellow eyes revealed themselves -- anger, hatred, and hunger was evident in them. She soon learned that his yellow eyes meant hostility, and hostel he was. She didn't say anything, she couldn't say anything. All she could think about in that moment was the pain and surreal feeling her coma dream was. How _real_ it was. And it probably _was_ real, every last bit of it.

"Why are you here," she asked. "I know it's you, you clown fuck."

The nurse's eyes narrowed, or more like Pennywise's, as It foriegned surprise. "Oh, looky here. The patients lost her marbles, it seems! Don't worry, we can cut that little nugget right out." It plucked the side of her throbbing head.

(Y/n) gritted her teeth and swatted the assaulting hand away. "Are you the cause of this?" He had to be.

"No," It answered flatly. Though It sounded like it was telling the truth, she didn't believe it. How could she? This thing was a monster, morphing into other people, wearing another face. "Why would I do such a thing?"

She gave him a flat glare.

_Oh! The call button!_

Her heart sunk into her stomach when she finally remembered _where_ it was.

The remote that had the call button was right beside her, tucked between the headboard and her pillow. It was on his side, so she couldn't reach for it without him noticing. Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to press it without him noticing.

That wasn't the case. As soon as she reached behind her pillow, he noticed within mere seconds. He knew it was there, after all.

"Nah, huh. No you don't." He plucked the device away in one swift motion, yanking the cord from the bed, rendering it useless. The pure brute force caused her bed to screech against the floor. "No need for that when I'm here."

(Y/n) stared blankly at the remote that sat uncaring in his grip. Any hope left suddenly disappeared. The menacing presence suddenly looked further into her space.

"I can smell you," It growled. "Different, same, but threatening. I should kill you, rip you to shreds." The nurse's hand morphed into something else entirely, a scaly hand with visouis talons. One flick of his wrist sent her tray of food clattered to the ground with a thunderous bang against the tile flooring. The action alone caused huge grief to shoot through (Y/n). _My food, the bastard!_ But she didn't voice her frustration, not as he came closer to her.

He held it right above her chest, ready to shrike, dig his claws right into her ribs, feel the familar warmth of insides. He knew he should have killed her, but he couldn't. _Literally_. "I want to see if your insides are any different."

"Then fucking do it," she seethed. She didn't know why she felt confident all of the sudden, especially in her predicament. She couldn't even move, for crying out loud. She taunted him further. "Why haven't you done it yet? What, have you grown _soft?_"

Something flashed in his eye, too quick for her to catch though. In one single swift motion he brought down his readied claws -- cutting through fabric and piercing the soft flesh between her breast and stomach. He didn't dig too far, only a mere inch. There was something stopping him. He couldn't bring himself to go any further -- but he _wanted_ to. Oh, he so desperately needed the feeling of her blood underneath his finger nails; to feel her hot blood kiss his skin. The intoxicating desire to rip her to shreds with his teeth, to hear her blood curdling cries for help.

The imagery made his figurative blood boil. This woman has became the bane of his mind, the central interest to the reason of his appearance. She surpassed the losers club on his most want-to-kill list. Yet, there was something different. The spark within her, the dominating fight between them -- though he clearly wins in that aspect. No, it's the phantom touch of her bite is what plagued his thoughts. The strange feeling that followed, not one of pain. The manner in which his essences left her mouth -- still stuck on his mind. He never experienced _that_ feeling, and he didn't really want to. He just **_couldn't_**.

That's why he was there, glued to the spot, with his claws nearly in her chest.

(Y/n) gasped in shock, but the pain that followed was merely dull. Shouldn't she feel more? Institivly, she tried to pry his hand away from her, but her attempts were fruitless considering how weak she was from being bed-ridden. Sharp nails dug into scaly flesh, peeling back skin. He hissed through his nose. Suddenly, he grasped both of her wrist with only one hand, slamming them against the back board of the hospital bed. She yelped at the sudden movement, soreness turning into a burning sensation.

The nurse's hair, once blonde and straight, shriveled and bunched as it turned ginger -- like hair burning. The short, petite structure of a woman twisted with crackles and pops, growing at an alarming rate, filling out into a masculine figure. It was unnatural, a ritual she's seen multiple times already. Once a sweet-appearing woman, was now that of a murderous clown. She wonders when he switched to that, how long he's been going about as the nurse. Was this whole time, in fact, played by him; or did he take turn when she left? Was she an actual person, someone he possibly killed just get to (Y/n)? The big question almost left her lips, even through the dull pain. Instead, she bite down on her tongue to muffle the whimper that threatened to excape, daring to give him what he craves, as he pulled his claws _out of her._

He took his other hand away from her, his talons now covered in her blood. Her very much _poisonous_ blood. But he learned that a tiny bit was alright to ingest. And with that bit of knowledge, he more then reluctantly licked the blood that dripped down his middle finger.

The sight of it all caused (Y/n) to coil away, the disgusting sight only barely distracting her from the pain.

She gritted her teeth. "Stop."

Pennywise halted, not because she told him to, but from the audacity of her command. A wicked plan uncoiled in his twisted mind, an impish smile stretched ear to ear. He brought his free hand to her face, his claws pinching into both her cheeks as he held her head firmly in place. Her blood smeared messly over the areas he touched, slowly dripping into her hair. "Someone's stingy, now aren't they? Don't worry, I'll share with ya!" Then he shoved one of his blood covered fingers in her mouth.

She couldn't help but gag at the copper taste over stimulating her sinsitive taste buds and the assault his finger was doing to her mouth. She should have thrown up at the feeling of something sharp scrapping against the back of her tongue, almost hitting the back of her throat. Without second thought she bit down on the intruding finger.

Pennywise growled visously, his grip on her wrist tightened. But instead of pulling his finger away, he pried another in, both his index and middle now attempting to explore. But her jaws quickly clamped together and stopped his movements, her teeth piercing his flesh down to the bone.

Black mist seeped between her lips -- _his_ own blood. His nerves flared at the sight. Once again a familiar, yet confusing shiver rattled his form.

Ignoring the growing ache, he shoved his fingers fully into her mouth. Skin peeled back from the force of her teeth. The tip of his talons curled in the back of her throat. Tears swelled in her eyes from the sensation, a few spilling out, tears trailing through congealing blood.

The woman cringed at the odd taste of whatever was filling her mouth. The mist that escaped past her chapped lips fogged her vision. She couldn't help but breath some of it in. What she thought would add more pain to the mixture was surprisingly the opposite. As it filled her lungs, a false calmness settled in her mind. It tickled her body as it mixed into her blood stream and pain of her wounds slightly faded to nothing. Despite the lightness, almost drug induced feeling, her thoughts came crystal clear. But Pennywise could feel the loosening grip she had on his fingers. How her eyes drifted out of focus.

He cocked his head, curious. "What is this?" He leaned over top of her, bring his face closer to observe her odd behavior. "No more fight left in you, huh?" He teased more. "Not like there was much fight to begin with! Ha!" He laughed at her, mockingly.

Her heart rate slowed, eyes fluttering to stay open. _What the hell? What's happening?! Snap out of it. _

Pennywise then realized what was actually happening. He giggled. He _fucking_ giggled.

"Oh boy, look what we have here! Little birdie seems to be affected by me in more ways then one." His smile was filled with sharp teeth, threatening to chomp her head off any second. "I wonder if I could kill you that way. Better then being torn open, isn't it? How does it feel?" He knew she couldn't answer with his fingers still in her mouth, but he continued anyway. "Does it hurt? Does it feel... Good?" His head twisted to the side, more unnatural then before. His eyes narrowed, barely catching whiff of some of the chemicals in her blood stream. Dopamine, he recognized.

He tsked. "Naughty girl. Finding pleasure in such things." The ambers that stared back at her only grew hotter, more intense. There was nothing she could do but fight back the feeling. She was locked in place, paralyzed. "You're a strange little... Thing." He released his hold on her wrist. Her jaw was lack, but he kept his mangled fingers in her mouth to keep filling her system with him.

His free hand curled through her hair, tugging her head to the side in a rough manner. Out of all places on the human body, the most delicate place would be the neck. One twist of the neck the wrong way and it's end game. One wrong move and he could sever an artery, resulting in her bleeding to death on the hospital bed. He could hear the pulse in her throat thrum in his ears. Beckoning him to bite.

Then he did, without warning.

His sharp teeth sunk into the side of her throat. Two rows of sharp needle teeth pierced half of her neck.

(Y/n) felt helpless as a scream she wanted to let out never came. This sinsation felt familar; this _situation was _familar. Just like her **_nightmare_**. Just like every other time, too, that's she's had the displeasure of being near this... _Thing. _

Pennywise retracted his teeth; his long tongue smoothed over the puncture wounds caused by his teeth. Where it should have hurt, felt something entirely foreign. In a way her body _should not be reacting. _The fog that surrounded her logical thinking took control as he lapped at the blood that oozed out of her neck.

His grip on her face went lax as his eyes rolled back into his skull.

She clenched her eyes shut to block out the putride sight, but nothing could stop the sensation she has the misfortune of feeling.

She was repulsed by the act. Absolutely disgusted. The notion of actually kissing Pennywise compared little to the foriegn buzz in her chest, the pressure that swelled in her core. She didn't want to feel this way. Her body's reaction made her want to throw herself into an active volcano -- burn away the disgust, the trash that was her skin, the warped mind of hers, everything. Everything and more.

She didn't know what she was doing until it was to late.

_Crunch!_

At first she didn't know if it was her teeth that shattered. But another second followed and there was no indication of such pain. No, there was something else. Severed fingers laid lax in her mouth, her teeth still intact even in it's death clamp state. As quick as she realized, she spat them out on to the floor. However, one of the fingers didn't make it and landed on the edge of the bed. She hurriedly swatted it away.

_Oh__ God_, she though, _I'm about to hurl._

Pennywise had pulled away as soon as he felt the pain. Everything was slow at first, dulled down into milliseconds. The toxicity that ran rapid within him had everything to do with it. He still had blood dripping down his chin as he peered at his left hand -- his index and middle finger obviously missing. There were still in her mouth. Well, _were_ in her mouth -- now discarded on the floor like trash. His exterior cracked. Literally. There was a split second of hesitation, a moment of shock, but that ended as soon as a hand, balled into fist, busted into he confines of his head. The foriegn substance in his head caused the Deadlights to quiver in fear, another frenzy within an already ticking time bomb. He didn't have a brain, in literal terms, only a fog of conscience that was connected to his truer being. So when her unexpected hand met nothing but stiff air, she was somewhat surprised.

And when she meant stiff air, she meant a pressure cooker. Boiling hot heat sizzled at her hands, pressing the tender flesh on all sides, licking hungerly up her arm in waves of heat. It felt like her flesh was melting off -- and it probably was for all she knew. She hurriedly yanked her fist away with a yelp. She expected her hand to be red, bloody, her flesh crispen or falling of, but it wasn't. It looked unharmed, no indication that it was put anywhere burning. Instead, it was paler. An indication of slow blood flow in the area

Her breathing became labored -- the haze in her mind finally dispatched -- discomfort and fear racking her body as she lightly grazed the unharmed hand. As soon as it made contact, she pulled away with a hiss. It was ice cold. Red flags flared up at the complexity of what just accurd only moments ago. She shouldn't be surprised, honestly, but she was a logical thinker.

Nothing about any of this made sense. This thing makes no sense. **Nothing makes any sense. **

The woman should be dead. Chewed up and spit out. Floating in Derry's waste. A lost memory within the catocombs of Derry -- another cassualty forgotten like the rest. However, she was alive, painfully so. Sometimes she wished she _wasn't. _But at that very moment, as his eyes narrowed at her in hatred, visouis mawl bared in murderous intent, she wanted nothing but. So when she sat up from the disheveled mess of a bed with her own teeth bared (like she'd do much damage, nor that intimidating), she was surprised. Chalk it up to instincts -- unearthed instincts, more or so.

"That's what you fucking deserve," (Y/n) spat. Pennywise's face twitched, barely noticeable. A sliver of a crack she noticed. At that she became more defensive, ignoring the way her blood soaked the collar of her blue hospital gown, nor nothing to think the amount of scars will be present. "Stay back!"

He chuckled, mockingly. "We've done this dance a million times." He had the nerve to laugh in her face dispite the lack of his. "Don't say things you'll regret."

It was her time to dryly laugh. She's had enough. "The only regret I have is not killing you sooner."

Pennywise tilted his head once again. He had a habit of doing so, she noticed. He cooed, trying to light the growing fire even more. "Aww, the lil thing. So young, so precise. So very _naive_." The messed up hand lifted up to his cheek, tapping lightly in false thoughtfulness, now sporting new set of skeleton fingers. Her eyes drifted off to the side for a moment, searching for the dismembered fingers that littered the clean tiles. Sure enough, they were still in their places. The damage done to his head slowly regenerated itself.

"I've heard you say it a few times, that you don't know what I am." Her breath shuddered in growing frustration, and exhaustion. She just wanted him to leave for once, to get it through his thick (ass) skull. "But I'm human."

He hummed. "Oh, denial... how surprising." He parted from the bed and plucked one of his discarded fingers off the floor. Her focus never left his threatening form. Finger nestled between his newly generated ones, presenting it like it was something of importance. There was a small pause before he continued. "A human couldn't bite my fingers off."

"What do you mean," she questioned. "Humans aren't that weak, we can do such things. I just did, after all."

"_Humans can't bite my finger off_," he repeated, slowly, like he was talking to a child. "No humans ever torn a body part from me. Many have tried, but failed. Even as simple as a finger."

(Y/n) gaze fell on the door. Could someone hear them?

"So what? Maybe you're just getting weak."

Pennywise growled. "Me, weak? You better watch your tongue, child, before I rip it out myself."

"Did I hit a nerve there, Penny?" she mocked, venomously. It was a bad idea, but at this moment she didn't have much sense anymore. "Because usually when someone gets offended, it's true. Is that why you haven't killed me yet, because you're a weak lil bitch? What happened to the monster in the books, the one that said they were the eater of worlds? I don't see that."

There was a pregnant pause. The air became thick with hostility, more so then before. She knew it was coming before it even began.

The creature nocked itself against the bed with brute force; a blur of teeth and yellow eyes as the world moved without her. The bed caught against the tile, flipping it over with her on it. Everything went black and fuzzy as her head hit first against the tiles. The needles that was attached to her were ripped out in the process. She didn't come to until the matress squishing her was torn off and thrown across the room -- hitting a shelf in the process and causing a crash as everything clattered to the ground.

Fingers curled into unkept hair, painfully tugging her off the ground. He held her in place as he snarled in her face; the ringing in her ears wouldn't let up. Her legs were wobbly as she attempted to stand. Her hands shook as she clawed at the ones who locked her in a death grip. She felt them dig into his flesh, her strength not being good enough to pull him off.

Pennywise laughed at her futile attempts to excape his grasp. The sight fueled his rage.

The doorhandle jiggled. Someone was trying to get into the room.

"Hel--" a hand clamped over her mouth.

(Y/n) twisted in his firm grip with a new form of strength. She screamed into his hand, kicked at his legs in protest.

The person was banging on the door. A voice that didn't reach her was muffled over the heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Pennywise tilted his head down closer to hers. Taking in her scent throughly now. He felt the shift, the entity that's settled within her bones, her soul. It laid dormant before their contact. It made the Deadlights buzz with anticipation -- a nuclear bomb ready to explode. A sense of familiarity, yet, alienated. A species he's never been acquainted with until now. However, they were connected to some great force, woven in a twisted fate. A beacon of Earth, reborn within a human host.

She was too weak to fight -- too undeveloped. The sharpness of her claws is the only indication of her growing carnage powers. The manner of which her jaw clamped down on his fingers was a show of inhuman strength. Pennywise finally decided his course of action.

He released his hold on her, freeing her from his harsh grasp. She unceremoniously fell to the ground at his feet. The muscle in her legs were weak from being bed-ridden and unused for so long.

(Y/n) groaned as she picked her self up on wobbly knees, gritting her teeth, ignoring the pain as she stood up straight the best she could muster. _Hell to this_, she thought, as she took a much needed steps back away from the towering beast.

Pennywise regarded her with calculated eyes -- only watching -- not moving from his spot as she retreated.

There were plenty of things she wanted to say, but nothing would ever get through that thick skull of It. Pennywise won't tell her anything, and the stuff he had makes no sense.

A small part of her wants to ask him how he does it. How It can shift, why it only eats human supposedly, why every 27 years? Why it was out and about even though it's much too early -- the 27th mark hasn't hit. Why why why _why_.

The door handle became loose from it's place, shaking violently before the one inside the room clattered to the ground. The door busted open and in came a frenzy of people. When her attention snapped back to the _thing_ at hand, she wasn't surprised to see the clowns spot empty.

Her eyes stayed trained to the empty spot, even as hands pulled her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I just wrote. I'm not happy with how I went about with this chapter honestly. I lost my ability to properly think straight, bc now my thoughts are literally all jumbled and cramped into this peanut brain of mine.
> 
> My bad if nothing makes sense either lmao I'm loosing brain cells the longer this Covid lock down keeps up. Literally. My senior year is screwed. I don't know if I'll actually be able to go to college this following August with the way things are going. I have the ACT test in June bc I couldn't take it in April due to cancellation. My dog has disappeared, and I'm pretty sure he's dead. Rip.
> 
> Mental Issues in play --> check ✓. Sleep schedule non-existent --> check again ✓. And thus why I am now retarded 👉👉😎💀.
> 
> Overall, kill me pls. Do me a favor and hit me with your car. Thanks.


	27. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my worse chapter rip. I need to work on dialogue.

"Hi, (Y/n). Nice to meet you. I understand you've been going through some stuff lately." Lucy Thorten, her psychologist, began. She shifted her attention to the file in her lap for a split second before giving (Y/n) her undivided attention. "With your parents death, and now being attacked in your hospital room. How have you been holding up?"

"Why am I here? I don't need this."

"I'm sorry but the hospital thinks you do. Its required by state you attend these meetings. I know its a troubling time for you. I know it must be hard and now you're in an environment you wish to not be in, you're stressed, am I correct?" When she received no answer, she continued. "I'm here to help you and hopefully pull you through these difficult times, but at your own pace. I'm going to ask you a few questions. You don't have to answer straight away, take your time." 

This time (Y/n) gave a nod of acknowledgement, a small tilt of the head that Dr. Thorten more then appreciated.

"Who do you think would attack you? You do have a history with Tony Underwood, don't you? Was it him?"

(Y/n) sighed. "I'll tell you the same thing I told the police: I dont know, I did not see his face. I had just woken up, everything was... fuzzy."

"Lets discuss Tony Underwood now, if you don't mind?" The psychologist didn't give her enough time to answer, but instead still kept talking. A move that (Y/n) sure as hell did not like. "With his recent escape, do you think it was possibly him. Even though you cant identify who assaulted you?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I wouldn't be surprised. I know you already have information on his past assaults."

"Yes I do. Its required of me to have this information to better understand what you're going through."

(Y/n) stayed silent, staring out of the big office window that overlooked the parking lot before it shifted to the psychologist. Her stare was as uncomfortable as a chorus-girl corset and had the same effect on Lucy Thorten's breathing, constricted and shallow. There was something wrong behind those eyes. It wasn't cold, but empty. Like the girl wasn't all there. It made Dr. Thorten uneasy. 

The doctor swallowed down her fear and asked, "what's on your mind at the moment?"

There was silence. The kind where you could practically hear everything, from the pipes in the walls, to the air movement that pushed against the glass of the window. It felt like a minute has passed before she finally answered, but it was only a few seconds at most.

"Dont mention that name again."

Dr. Thorten dared stroke the rage within (Y/n). "Tony Underwood?"

"Yes, who the fuck else?" (Y/n) snapped. She bit her tongue immediately after. Calm (Y/n), calm. "Look, I'm sorry Dr. Thorten, but I don't need your help. I don't need this."

"I understand (Y/n), but I can't allow that. I won't mention you-know-who anymore until you are ready, if that will help."

(Y/n) didn't vocalize it, but she settled down shortly after. She still couldn't help the aggression that lingered in her blood stream. She was, in fact, having behavioral problems. She wouldn't say that out loud though.

"How have you been holding up since your parents death?"

"Ive been getting by. I still have my grandma and she lives with me."

Dr. Thorten gave a sympathetic smile, grateful for (Y/n) answering her questions, even as vague as they were. She was more relieved to see her patient had calmed down.

"You've been taking care of each other in these times, right? How has your grandmother impacted your life thus far?"

"I've always been close to grandma. I feel like its brought us closer but..." (Y/n) froze, unable to finish her sentence. There was a barrier blocking her conscience, nipping away from the logical side of her mind. 

"What was that?"

(Y/n) snapped out of her thoughts. "It was nothing, nevermind."

"But you said 'I feel like its brought us closer but', what did you mean to say?"

(Y/n) gritted her teeth. Her nails dug into fabric of the office chair in pure annoyance – little did she know it was tearing holes into the arm rest. "I said nothing."

"(Y/n), how am I suppose to help you if—"

"I dont need your fucking help," she barked. "I dont need this bullshit."

"Please calm down."

"No, I wont!" She stood up so quickly that the chair fell behind her. Dr. Thorten jolted at the sudden crash.

(Y/n) brought herself closer to the seated psychologist with a snare aimed at her. "You wanna know how I fucking feel? Pissed and tired and just so fucking done! I could tell you all my problems, everything I've been through and you still wouldn't understand. No-one would understand."

The doctor was slightly terrified. She didn't know what (Y/n) was capable of. Nothing good but the look in her eyes. "I want to understand, I want to help, but you just have to give me a chance (Y/n). Let me help you please."

"That's the thing, doc." (Y/n) backed off from Dr. Thorten. "You can't help me."

"(Y/n)—" But she was already out the door before Lucy Thorten could finish.

_____

Nothing has been the same ever since (Y/n) came home from the hospital. Louis was always breathing down her neck, watching her every move. There was a hint of suspension on her face masked by worry. 

Louis got a call from Dr. Thorten. She knew the time was now for confrontations.

"(Y/n)," Louis began. "I know."

(Y/n) gave her a questioning look, appearing like she had no clue what the older woman meant. She had an idea of what Louis must be meaning, implying she knew what been haunting (Y/n) for a while now. A memory of something long past that took the form of a clown -- a monster Louis saw many years ago.

Louis knew. Of course she does. "I know you know. I know you went exploring. That thing is awake." 

"How would you know that?"

"(Y/n), Dear, you don't know me very well, do you? The only reason you knew is because I told you." 

She tried to play it off. "Gran, it doesn't make sense." But Louis seen right through her.

"Don't," she sternly said. "Tell me the truth, now." The younger woman didn't answer.

"Don't do this, (Y/n). If you're not telling me because you think I'm too old to handle the truth, you're wrong. I want to help you. I can see you're suffering." 

"What's it with everyone and wanting to help?! You can't help me, no-one can!"

"Of course I want to help you, I'm your grandma. Deflecting isn't going to solve this situation either," she said. Louis cane clicked against the wooden flooring as she made her way over to a window and pulled back the black curtains. "At first I thought it was because you lost your parents. But then I started seeing things -- things I haven't seen in a very long time." 

"They all happened around you. Around this house. I should have known. I should have seen the signs. But I didn't, I didn't because I was blind."

"What are you talking about--" Louis cut her off with her hand, still pacing back and forth despite her bad hip. 

"No, let me finish." She held up her index finger. "Remember when I told you what it had done? It... Ate my sister. It ate many kids that summer." (Y/n) nodded her head.

"It feeds and feeds until it's had it's fill, then disappears another twenty-seven years. Or so I believe. I've been here ever since I could remember. I've been through two of It's hunting's."

"Why didn't you leave?"

"I... Couldn't. I'm an old soul trapped here, shackled to these tragic grounds. Our family has always been here."

"And you rather torture yourself then seek someplace better--"

"No, no. You don't understand (Y/n). I can't leave. And besides the point, we're getting off topic." 

"What's your point then?"

"The beast feeds on children, but sometimes adults as well. It isn't in full force at the moment. In the past one child after the other would seemingly disappear. It seems like It's holding back. Why, I would not know." 

"That's because it is. It doesn't want to be discovered. He's weak."

"So you have met the beast? Personally?"

"Yes."

So all those times, Louis thought. Those teeth marks, the way she's been acting...

"Oh my poor baby." Louis came to comfort (Y/n), but the hiss from the younger woman stopped the arms that threatened to wrap themselves around her.

"I've been through alot," she started. "I've seen things I wish I hadn't. Dead people. I've seen him... Kill people. Sometimes when I go to sleep I can see through the monsters view. It's all fucked up. I'm fucked up. That's not even most of it. Not even close."

(Y/n) told Louis the truth, but she wasn't going to tell her everything. She couldn't.

"Sounds like its..." Louis paused. She didn't want to continue her sentence. "--obsessed. And why do you mean by dreams?"

"I don't want to get into that right now," (Y/n) said. Louis didn't question it further.

They sat in silence for what felt like forever. Now that Louis knew, she didn't know what to do. It was much worse then what she presumed to be. The silence was suddenly sliced short when (Y/n) spoke up, not meeting Louis's gaze.

"You were right, grandma. You were always right. About the clown. You weren't crazy after all." (Y/n) Lightly chuckled at her light attempt at humor, only to turn serious shortly after. "But, you forgot one thing."

"What?"

"The creature you've described to me, and the one I've met. He's worse. Much worse."


	28. A Killer Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Did you ever think as a hearse goes by That you will be the next to die?  
They wrap you up in the bag white Sheet  
From your head down to your feet.  
And the worms crawl in the worms crawl out,  
in your stomach and out your snout,  
And your eyes fall out in your teeth decay--  
And that is the end of a perfect day."  
______________________
> 
> [SENSITIVE CONTENT WARNING]

**The house was silent.**

The moment she got home from work — her employer had let her back on the company out of sympathy, an agreement she was grateful for — there was something off. The air crackled with velocity, but still adequate to be sliced with a knife. She was getting acquainted to the threat that followed her like a lost puppy. Except it was anything but a cute, lovable creature.

She's had enough.

(Y/n) tossed the purse dangling from her tensed shoulders onto the floor. She glanced over the living room. Nothing looked out-of-order except Louis's blue coat and winter boots, which were missing from their usual appointed spots. That's when she remembered Grandma had a doctor's appointment today, a checkup on the current state of her heart. Considering that, she was alone. That's how it should be, at least.

(Y/n) kicked her pumps off, not noticing where they settled, nor caring about the forthcoming lecture Louis would unleash on her. All (Y/n) wanted was to loosen up. No bullshit, no issues. Just her and the TV, the coffee table cluttered with candy and other snacks she consumed like the pig she was.

The thought of food caused her gut to twist painfully - gnawing on her innards, nausea threatened to come up. She even had a full meal for lunch that would put Viking serving portions to shame. Not even the sandwich meat she was currently stuffing in her face made any difference, her stomach a black hole. She only stopped eating when she overheard a board creak upstairs. She was about to head upstairs until —  
The doorbell ringed.

She opened the front door to see the mail man, Jack Marsh, a brown package in hand and a letter in the other. “Good evening, ma'am.” She took the mail from his outstretched reach. “How've you been lately? Heard about you being in the hospital.”

Jack Marsh was an all right guy. He was Derry's mailman, handyman, plumber, you name it.

“It's been all good. I've been through worse.”

“Well, you take care now. If there's anything you need done, just let me know.” He turned to leave, but stopped. “Oh and tell your grandma the Mrs' wants her over for book club tomorrow.”

(Y/n) smiled reassuring. “Sure thing.” He bid farewell one last moment before trudging away in snow that reached his ankles. She needed to shovel her yard, she realized.

She felt uncertain with the package. The last time had her dead cat in it. That uncertainty left as quickly as it came as soon she spotted that it was from her family the other state over. She opened it.

The first thing she saw was a card, a generic get-well card with a personal letter sprawled at the bottom.

'_Hey (Y/n)!_

_We wish we could come up there and visit you but the kids are starting school back up and money's tight. So instead we sent you a get-well basket... Or box, as you will. Sending happy vibes your way! Just take it one day at a time and before you know it you'll be good as new!_

_Love,_  
_The (F/L)s.'_

A slight smile graced her lips as she set the card aside. The contents of the package included a fleece blanket, some goodies, comfy socks, and two books she's been wanting but hasn't had the money to buy. Overall, it was a sweet gesture, despite it being sent much too late, but that's the postal services fault. She'll call later and thank them.

The other letter's content contained her medical bill, and her heart stopped at the hellish amount she had due.

A door slams upstairs. She dropped the bill out of surprise.

“Who's up there!” she yelled, her voice cracked in growing fear. She went up the steps, one foot in front of the other, fists tight against the waxed railing. The sweat that gathered in her palms made her hands sticky. A slight whiff of the air made it clear someone was here. Whoever they were smelt like shit — like they haven't showered in weeks.

It could be that fucking clown again, but she didn't think it was him. As crazy as it sounds... It wasn't Pennywise. She could feel it. It was someone else.

She knew she was walking into a trap as as she opened the last place to check. And she was right as as she was yanked by the arm further into the room. She caught herself before falling. The door slammed behind her, locking her in. She turned around to see who it was.

—

(Y/n) gasped, her limps stuck in place. “You!”

There stood Tony fucking Underwood, blocking the only exit, brandishing an axe in one hand and the other pressed up against the door. (/) took a much-needed step back, desperate to put distance from her and the axe.

She was beginning to think this house brought nothing but trouble, because so far she's had more trouble here then anywhere else. And she's pretty fucking retarded for not bringing a weapon. She was too hungry to concentrate.

"Me," Tony Underwood said in a shrill voice. He snorted in fake amusement, squaring his shoulders in intimidation. Trying to make himself wider then he already was, easily squashing any possibility of bypassing him. "Been some time, (Y/n)."

Icy fear seeped into her body, causing short quivers that threatened to show. Her teeth gritted together in dreadful anticipation of what would happen next.

She spat through clenched teeth, "what the hell do you think you're doing here, you piece of shit."

His face twisted in genuine confusion. "Isn't it obvious?" He took a step closer to her. She took a step back. He waved the axe around in his hand. "Don't you see this axe, here?"

A detailed vision of that axe penetrating her flesh, tearing through muscle and tenants, cutting into bone. It was enough to scare her senseless. Who wouldn't it?

But what the hell was she thinking? She's dealt with a fucking murderous clown that's tried to kill her before. This was just Tony freaking Underwood, a no good bastard with history of drug-use and violence, along with a list of sexual assault. Not an entity that's lived far longer than Derry stood, that took form of anything and everything, that ate children and people in general. Pennywise brought more pain and trauma than Tony had in her life. However despite all that, the axe in his hand was very much real, and more than capable of ending her miserable life.

"I advise you to leave now while you still can."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't--" she threatened, "I'll fucking kill you."

Tony Underwoods face was emotionless. His chest began shaking -- then he busted out laughing. "Someone's grown some balls on them!" His chapped, crusty lips tugged into a menacing grin; his wet tongue poked out between yellowed teeth to wet lips. "I'll have fun tearing that cunt of yours apart, and then slicing you into a million pieces."

(Y/n) grimaced, disgust swirling in the pit of her stomach. "If I had balls wouldn't that mean I also have a dick?" (Y/n) chuckled meekly as she circled around the room, eyes never leaving Tony's threatening figure, hopeful of finding something to fight with. "Suck my dick, bitch."

He growled. "That's it, no more chit-chat."

"Really?" She fake pouted -- twisting the knife deeper, or an axe, more accurately. "I really do love these talks of ours. Always amusing."

Tony's normal high-pitched voice lowered into a menacing snarl. "You won't find it amusing any longer."

The weight of her gaze was tangible, like the steel in his hands. "If you seriously think I find you scary you have another thing coming. I'm done with that shit. Why do you keep doing this?"

"Because you ruined my life, you stupid bitch!"

Tony Underwood saw (Y/n) has the source of all his issues. The reason why he was the way he was now. Over the years he's became obsessed over the thought of ending her. Only then will his mind be at ease, only then will he have his way.

(Y/n) scrunched her eyebrows. Was he really blaming her for what he had done? The audacity of this fuck tard. "You fucked yourself over, not me."

"This is the only way."

"No it's not, Tony." She didn't want to reason with his sick fuck, but her life was on the line. "You don't have to do this."

"I don't give a two shits!" He yelled, clearly tipping over the edge. "You have to die, I want you to."

"What the fuck did I do to you," she seethed. "You have no damn right to come in here and say that I ruined your life."

"I didn't think you were that dumb, girl. Your bootlicking pig of a father, your whore of a mom. Then there's you, all of that mixed into one prissy bitch. If you didn't go running to your daddy and let me have my way with you we wouldn't be in this situation.

"It wasn't hard finding you because hell, you're still here, aren't cha? I had to wait awhile. I'm not the most patient person but I made do. Been watching you awhile, your granny too-"

"You leave her out of this."

"Don't worry, I'm only here for you, sugar-tits. You and me." He snared, emphasizing his next words. "Unless you want more people involved, more casualties on your hands. It won't have to come to that, unless you're willing for it to."

Pure anger bubbled in her veins as she stared down the source of her resentment. There was nothing more that she wanted then to see his severed head spire on a spike.

"Funny. I've heard that from somewhere before."

"Really? Why don't you explain then?"

"There's bigger things out there, bigger things you can't possibly fathom." (Y/n) spoke unnerving. Her hand stealthy brushed over the desk for anything-- Clank! A pen rolled off and clattered to the floor, giving her away. "Shit."

Tony noticed soon away, finally having his head out his ass for the most part.

Without warning he lunged into action.

Time slowed down, only for a split second. She saw his muscles twitch, pulling him into action before he even moved from his spot in front of the door. She could smell the adrenaline that spiked his veins, hear the suddenly rush of blood to his heart. The axe in his hands slowly raised up, ready to strike. Perfectly aimed for her shoulder. Not a fatal blow, but one that would cripple and stun. It was mere inches from its target before she swiftly tumbled out-of-the-way into a nearby shelf.

The axe imbedded itself into the wall.

Dull pain trickled through her nerves at the spot where her back collided with the book shelves. That pain disappeared as soon as it came, unnaturally dampening her nerves as she dove once again out-of-the-way has Tony swung without regard. She threw the desk at him, a sorry attempt at a temporary barricade.

"Stop moving!" he screeched.

He swung once again at her. She barely dodged that time, and Tony flew forward with the axe from the momentum of his swing, and the toppled desk. The axe sunk into the floor boards has he kissed the ground.

She dashed for the door but a calloused hand harshly grabbed her ankle and stuttered her movements. Tony Underwood still kept pulling at the stuck axe as his other hand clamped around her ankle. (Y/n) Face turned red with anger has she kicked at the bastard holding her back. He howled in pain as she stomped his fingers. She fled as soon as she was free.

She ran down the hallway with the speed of someone running for their life. Heavy foot steps pounded against the floor -- he was gaining up on her. As soon as her foot hit the first step down a large hand forcefully shoved her forward. She crashed down the stairs.

(Y/n) was stunned from the sudden fall. She groaned. She couldn't see straight, the world's swirled, blurred with stringy tears that threatened to fall. She was not about to give him the satisfaction and she choked back the sob that crawled up her throat. She kept dosing off, no doubt her brains attempt to repair itself from that fatal tumble. Familiar taste of copper pooled in the back of her throat; she had bit through her tongue on the way down.

Tony stood over her with a look of pure satisfaction at her crippled form. He had no axe in hand, but crouched down over her, quick to hold arms down.

"Look at you so helpless," he sickly mocked. "If only you didn't run away -- you'd be dead. But now I have to teach you a lesson."

Tony started pawing at her clothed chest, a sick grin meant just for her. As soon as she felt the unwanted physical contact she snapped back into reality. Her brain must have snapped off its steam because it felt like with every micro movement of her head, even breathing, her head was rattling painful against her skull like a rattle.

(Y/n) couldn't talk, couldn't scream, couldn't even whimper without feeling extreme pain. Blood burned the back of her throat as she attempted to breathe but it only made her a sputtering mess as blood trickled into her windpipe with each intake of breath.

Tony's hand traveled underneath her shirt now, goosebumps left in his defiling quake. (Y/n) started to hyperventilate making breathing nearly impossible. He squeezed harshly on her breast, a disgusting groan made just to upset her more. To show he was having his way.

He mocked further. "You've grown quite nicely, haven't you?"

Tears escaped down her face, mixing with the blood that stained her skin. How could she let this happen again?

One of Tony's hands unlatched from her breast, snaking down to her pants, tugging them down sloppily. His rough hands roamed her body, roughly touching every reachable part of her flesh.

(Y/n) mouth was numb, and if that was a good thing she didn't know. Panic was ever-present in her mind. Nauseous from the cruel act that was being inflicted on her -- the contents of her stomach stopped in her sore throat, burning. She couldn't possibly imagine the pain of stomach acid hitting her wounded tongue.

Scraping noises rattled her brain, vibrating up her arm. Her nails, stronger than any humans, splintered the old flooring, peeling chunks off and digging into her flesh.

She barely had time to register as a hand clamped firmly around her fragile throat, cutting off her air way.

"Stop that," Tony warned.

His line of vision still glued to her unclothed center. He licked his lips once more, knees purposefully digging into her hands now, unbreakable grip still choking her, as he unfastened the belt around his waist.

"I'm gonna have fun with you. Been waiting for this for years, then off you after I'm through."

Before he could pull down his underwear she began thrashing about under him, not caring if every movement set her body on fire.

"Get off me you--" her words came out unintelligible, very loud, and spitting blood instead. She wheezed as the hand on her throat constricted until she couldn't even breath. Her gasps fell on sadist ears.

Tony laughed at her quivering, pathetic form. He stared down at her like she was nothing but a meat sack. Like she was nothing. And at that very moment she knew she was as good as dead.

"I can't wait to feel your hot cunt," he groaned, rubbing himself right in front of her.

(Y/n) screwed her eyes shut, baring her teeth as tears stung her flesh -- a sign of how pathetic she was. She couldn't do anything, nothing. She felt like she could pass out any moment, but her body fought against itself, keeping her fully awake. Shouldn't a fall like that be fatal?

No, supposed not. That's why she was still alive and completely unwell.

(Y/n)'s brain rattled against her skull as he violently shook her. "Look at me."  
But she didn't comply. He lifted her head by her neck and slammed her skull against the ground. "I said look at me!"

White dots danced in the dark, a muffled voice far away, mind fuzzy from lack of oxygen.

She didn't care about the pain, she kept her eyes closed. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She rather him kill her now then go through with what he had planned.

The hold on her throat loosened considerably. Tony Underwood's body stopped moving entirely, shivers brushing against her from the proximity.

(Y/n) wheezed as air hit her lungs. Unexplainable energy flushed through her system and she finally came to. The first thing she noticed was how cold she truly was -- her top soaked in blood and tears, laying in the cold floor, and her legs were bare to the chilly air. She could feel the deep gashes of her tongue on the roof of her mouth. The pain in her body melted away for the time being, and she cracked her eyes open to assess the situation.

Tony Underwood was completely paralyzed and stared off to the other side of the room.

He was a mumbling mess. "No, no, no."

He unleashed her and scooted away, his pulled down pants awkwardly stuttered his movements. He was pale as a ghost -- acting like he was seeing a ghost. Tony was too focused on whatever he was talking to, completely disregarding (Y/n). Nothing nor no-one else was in the room besides them.

(Y/n) had an idea of who he was seeing.

There was a reflection in Tony Underwood's eyes, the mirror of what he saw but what she couldn't see. A silhouette of a man -- unrecognizable beside two glowing eyes. Is he... Helping her? No, of course not.

"No dad, I won't to it again!" Tony pathetically whimpered. "Please, not again!"

It took every fighting ounce in her being to lift herself completely off the ground and quickly tug her underwear and pants on.

Pure red-hot rage filled her to the brim -- spewing over the edge as soon as she lunged at the babbling bastard too frightened to know his own surroundings. (Y/n) successful knocked him down to the ground before digging her fingers into his eye sockets. The eyeballs squished from the brute force, her claws cleanly sunk into the delicate tissue, juices and blood streaked down his face. His screams fueled her vengeful nature, an uncharacteristic menacing smile twisted on her face.

_Kill him. Kill him._

His life was coming to a trickling end. The thought of erasing him completely from this Earth seemed like an excellent idea, and the only practical one. She couldn't let him live. Not with what he's done.

_Kill him, little one. End his life._ The voice in her head sung, caressing her mind, acting as a guidance.

(Y/n) couldn't fight it any longer.

She tore into him, literally. Warm blood seeped beneath her nails as she dug into his flesh, peeling back skin and meat. His rib cage posed no boundaries as she ripped the ribs from the sternum -- exposing what lied underneath the bastard of a man -- a barely beating heart. No more screams left him, no more yelling and begging, he laid silent. Passed out. Ripped open, rapidly bleeding out. Death steadily taking over. She controlled it.

Her fingers twitched, her mind blank. They, with a mind of their own, gripped the faint beating muscle. It felt strange against her palm. The heart pulsed and quivered against the foreign object wrapped around it.

Drool pooled in her mouth. (Y/n)s Stomach twisted in pain, turning on itself as it felt like she was being eaten from the inside out. She curled over from the sensation, eyes trained on the source of it all -- the heart. She was hungry, so very hungry. Only a little bite wouldn't hurt--

_No_! She growled at herself, the sane part of herself.

But there was that little voice in her head again. A voice telling her to do it. Give into whatever the hell was taking over her. _Do it. Do it._

_No. No. No._ She can't. She couldn't.

The pain was becoming unbearable.

_Do it_, the voice whispered again, sounding right beside her. _Eat it or you will die. It's him or you._

_Don't do it. Don't do it._ She kept chanting.

But she wasn't strong enough.

It took little effort to tear the heart from Tony's chest.

She was quick to bite into the bleeding, tough muscle like it was a ripe apple. She didn't gag has it slithered down her throat. She didn't puke immediately afterwards. No. She opened her mouth wide -- her jaw popping out-of-place, no pain from the action -- the heart fit entirely in her mouth before she swallowed it whole.

Her hunger was satisfied. Her mind, however, was not.  
-

She scrunched up her nose. There was a horrible stench -- feces and death and something she couldn't quite place her finger on -- that over through the gory mess that laid beneath her on the floor. Her nerves shriveled up on instinct; a cold breeze brushed against her clammy skin, but she didn't shiver. (Y/n) stayed still, not even bothering to look up at the intruder she came to almost normalize. Almost.

"Pennywise, I know you can hear me."

Nothing beside the sound of blood suddenly bubbling out of Tony Underwood's lack, open mouth.

A phantom of warmth hit her ear -- nothing was there.

_Hehe-haha_! A familiar laugh echoed off the walls, a frightful reminder of who she was dealing with. Her gaze shifted, looking for the clown, but like before nothing was there.

Was she going mad?

No, of course not! Not in that sense, at least. She thinks? She hopes. He was there, he always is. Always watching. Perhaps this body before her isn't real, but a test. Perhaps it's a conjuration of her mind, and because she's been starving she fell into some twisted daydream of turning cannibalistic?

**None of that made any sense.**

Before she had the time to prepare herself, in a blink of an eye, a figure crouched at eye level with her. It's eyes scanned over the blood decorating her face to the body littering the floor, staining red the old and expensive wood. His usual expression twisted into something she couldn't quite decipher besides being sinister. The corner of Pennywise's lips literally reached his ears, directed at her specifically. The crinkle at the corner of his eyes showed it was genuine, as far as Pennywise came.

A dim sensation filled him -- pride. He was proud of her, but why? He hated this... Whatever she was. But he couldn't help it, a forbidden thrill at seeing her drenched in blood, death clinging to her body like a delectable perfume.

"Oh looky here! I didn't think you had it in you!"

__

The woman didn't snap back, nor offer a disgusted glare. She wore a blank face, empty of any emotions. Every sane cell in her body committed suicide after her little rendezvous with Tony Underwood.

Her throat burned painfully -- a reminder of she had willingly swallowed. Soreness settled in her jaw after popping it out-of-place like that. Her tongue was unnaturally numb. Did she actually bite through it? Was it still there?

She tried to click her tongue. It was definitely still there. But that was a problem for later.

She kept her eyes trained on the distance -- nothing in particular.  
"What the hell is happening to me..." The words let left her lips felt weird, sounded different. Not just because of her tongue, but because she felt like a different person.

Pennywise hummed, drawing ever closer to shocked woman. She didn't flinch away. She was too absorbed in her own mad world, unable to comprehend Pennywise's approach.

She didn't even react as he plucked her laxed hand from her lap and examined them. Monstrous claws half the size of her fingers stuck out. He turned them which and every way, curious of the transformation that transpired. He tilted his head to the side and sniffed them. He unceremoniously dropped them back into her lap.

Pennywise pinched her chin between two fingers, and examined her face. Her eyes, the normal (e/c), was no more. Instead they were black, an endless pit of despair, a gate way into the Void. When he peered into them -- millions of flickering lights viciously swarmed among the black -- glittering, singing songs of sorrow. Pennywise brought his face closer, slightly hypnotized by the manner of which the swarms manifested into patterns -- drawing him in.

(Y/n) bonked him outside the head from the close proximity. She hissed at him, drawing away quickly.

"Don't touch me," she growled.

The words he spoke next fell on deaf ears and she diverted her attention elsewhere, but not completely. (Y/n) stood up and stalked off with a limp in her step. The nuisance didn't pay the body any mind and followed (Y/n) curiously.

__

"Why did you do it?" She cringed at how her words came out, barely intelligible by the wound on her tongue.

Pennywise cocked his head, unconvincingly confused. "Whatever do you mean?"

(Y/n) should have known better.

"You know what, nevermind." She sighed. "Just leave me be for once."

"Perhaps I don't want to."

"Don't pester me now, you fucking parasite. I literally have a bleeding out corpse in my living room. I don't have time for your shit." She never had time to begin with.

Pennywise hummed and circled around (Y/n), drawing her full attention. "Hmm. I have a... Proposal."

She couldn't help but feel like prey caught in a trap by the manner he stared down at her.

She brushed by him, eager to escape. "Not interested."

"Oh, it's just a lil' harmless deal, one that benefits you, I do add!"

"Yeah, I don't believe you. Nor trust you in the slightest." She grabbed a whole roll of paper towels and a bottle of bleach, and went back to the crime scene at hand. "Don't ever expect me to."

"Come on, dearie! You haven't even heard it yet!"

She spat, "I don't need to, I already know you're full of shit."

"You wound Pennywise, I don't think I'll ever recover!" He said dramatically. "Me? Full of bupkis? Absurd!"

(Y/n) completely ignored him and focused on the problem at hand.

She viciously wipes at the blood pool on the ground, not accomplishing much besides smearing the red mess everywhere. "Shit. It's already soaked in."

"Don'tcha wanna hear my deal? I know you'll be interested. And oh so desperate."

"Fine," She spoke forcefully, agitated. "What?"

With a flick of his wrist, he suddenly held an old hairspray can. She stared at it in confusion. "I could make it all--" but as soon as it appeared, it disappeared into then air. "--disappear."

She looked at him unamused. "Am I supposed to be impressed by your parlor tricks?"

He pouted. "The corpse, silly! I can make it like it's never happened. No trace of that _filth_. No blood. Nothing of the sort. You won't have to worry that pretty little head of yours."

(Y/n) squinted her eyes at him in suspicion, trying to dissect his every motive. "And what exactly compelled you to even consider helping me?"

"That's a simple question, and here's an even more simple answer: we're different, you and I. Yet the same. Driven by **hunger**."

"No," she said. "I'm nothing like that. I'm not like you."

"But dear--" His finger swipes at her face before she could protest. His finger coated in blood, almost crusted. "--what is this then? Your blood intertwined with his." He motioned to her bloody hands. "You are, as they say, caught red-handed. You ripped into that fools chest cavity like it was nothing, inhumanly. Unnatural to this system."

She chose to ignore that little bit, still pissed at how much physical contact he's inflicted on her so far. _Keep your (fucking) clown hands to yourself._

"What's the fine print?"

"There is none."

_Bullshit_.

"Don't make me out to be the fool, you're the one whose dressed as a clown, after all. There's always a catch. And I'm seeing a long fucking list with you."

"Perhaps there is, perhaps there isn't. Would you rather be caught? Enslaved in a cage?"

"It's the same thing."

"All I wish is to observe, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You already do that enough as it is."

Pennywise rolled his eyes, sweeping her comment under the rug. His patience was wearing thin. "Will you accept my offer?"

(Y/n) knew she would grow to regret her decision if she excepted his help. But what was going to do with Tony Underwood's body? The police would see as it self-defense, sure, but that wouldn't explain his missing heart. They would take one look at the gruesome scene and label her as insane.

The thought of receiving help from Pennywise didn't sit right with her either. She felt disgusted at the thought.

What other choice did she have? She didn't know how to get rid of body.

_There is no choice. I'm stuck at a dead-end._

She already regretted her next words.

"Fine. I don't want any traces that lead back here, you got me?"

"That's a deal," Pennywise said. "Don't worry -- _I honor my arrangements_."

"What about that time where you--" she didn't dare speak the name, "--ate that kid despite the deal. You broke it."

"Last time I recalled you were the one that broke it, not me. Pennywise _never_ breaks a promise."

_More lies_, she knew. Once he's gotten what he came for, he'll turn his back.

The clown lifted Tony Underwood's corpse off the ground, a firm grip on his leg as he held the body in the air with one hand. A power show to remind her of how unnatural this entity really was.

"I ate the little thing when you went back on your word. Find me, you find the exit. Look for the exit, there is no possible way out. It was simple as such. All you were rats trapped in a maze, one that held no end unless the door was opened."

Pennywise jaw cracked open, his head stretched along with it, yellow eyes basically popping out of its sockets as his teeth extended out of ghastly pale gums. It was a horrific sight as he started from the top down to the bottom -- first it was Tony's head that slithered down the never-ending abyss that was Pennywise's stomach, followed by the rest of his body. Once he finished, nothing was left. There was no indication beside the blood that now covered Pennywise that he had eaten him. He may have swallowed a human whole but he didn't look the part. Pennywise's stomach was still slim, towering and menacing. He gave a crooked smile full of blood stained, razor-sharp teeth -- like a child who just did a terrible deed for a good cause.

(Y/n) was lost for words, still shocked by the display.

"What?" He pinched her cheeks, smearing blood. "Cat got your tongue?"

She swatted him away. "No, just do what needs to be done before I change my mind."

"It's too late for that, isn't it?"

In a blink of an eye the blood on the floor was gone.

(Y/n) crouched down to check the floor. It was clean, dry, and untouched. She hummed in satisfaction.

Pennywise firmly grabbed her shoulder, startling the woman on purpose. The words he spoke next was basically yelled into her ear, a chilling foreshadowing of what's to come.

"We're gonna have so much **fun**, you and I!"


End file.
